


my knight in a shining jeep

by salvatorestjohn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Between 3b and 4), Christmas Fluff, During Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hanukkah, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, M/M, New Year's Eve, Rafael McCall Being an Asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28359942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvatorestjohn/pseuds/salvatorestjohn
Summary: With Scott's dad back in town for the holidays, with no warning, Scott isn't sure how to come out to him. Fortunately, Stiles has an idea. A really good, foolproof, sure-to-work idea. All it requires is them being able to successfully pretend to be in a relationship. That can't be too difficult. Only, neither of them are too sure if it's actually going to work. Or if they're even still going to be acting by the time it's all over.
Relationships: Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 72
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

Having the news of his dad coming for dinner sprung on him just a couple of hours before the actual dinner is not something that Scott enjoys that much. And doing it through text is worse. As soon as he reads it, he sends a text to his mom without replying to his dad, asking if she’s aware of their surprise guest.

There’s no way that she knows. She would never have said yes; whenever he tries to invite himself over, Scott knows that his mom makes it a point to be out of the house, even if it means taking a double shift. He’s had less luck. Getting extra hours at the animal clinic isn’t too easy, and it tends to not be until he’s actually at home and finds his dad with dinner that he knows about it, so fabricating an excuse isn’t all that easy either.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to spend time with him. It’s just… hard to be around him. Things are awkward and tense, and honestly, half the time, Scott wishes his dad would stay in San Francisco. Things were fine. Better than fine. Scott was more than happy with his mom. Yeah, he’s glad he at least knows why his dad left now. Or, at least, one of the reasons. But it doesn’t make him want him to stick around, no matter how much he’s changed. Not that he’s sure that change is all that significant in the first place.

It’s nearing the end of school and Scott is in a mild panic about going home seeing as how his mom hasn’t texted him back. His eyes keep flitting from his textbook to the clock on the wall.

“Dude.” He looks up at Stiles’ voice, finding him at the desk to his left and watching him with furrowed eyebrows. “You’ve been tapping that pen non-stop for the last ten minutes and you look more anxious than I do on a daily basis. What’s up?”

Scott quickly stops the tapping. He hadn’t even noticed. 

Sighing, he sinks down a little in his seat to avoid Coach spotting them talking, before responding. “My dad’s coming for dinner. I can’t get out of it, but I am really not in the mood to deal with him right now. We’re just gonna sit there the entire time, saying barely anything, and when something does get said, he starts going on about work. The one time he’s actually asked something was when he asked if I had a girlfriend.”

Stiles sucks air in through his teeth and winces for him. “Ouch. Still not told him then?”

“About the fact that the only serious girlfriend I’ve actually had nearly died two months ago, but we weren’t even together at that point because we only went out for two months in eighth grade? Or that I’m gay?”

“Both? All of the above?”

Scott shakes his head, giving an even deeper sigh. “No to both… all. I was going to tell him about Allison out of panic, but then it’s the awkward parent-son talk about breakups, and it was four years ago, so I didn’t see too much point. But the second part, I’m…”

“Afraid?” Stiles suggests.

“No, not afraid,” Scott says. “More… wary, I guess? I don’t care what he thinks about me anymore, so if he wants to disown me or leave again, then he can feel free to. But I think I’m just wondering what his reaction will be. I don’t want a repeat of when we were kids, you know? I’m not just gonna stand there and take whatever he says, obviously, but I don’t want it to come down to that.”

“You want to believe him,” Stiles mutters. 

Scott glances at him. Stiles shrugs, giving a small smile.

“You want him to be telling the truth about changing, being sober, trying to be a better person,” Stiles says. “It’s not the worst thing in the world to want to hold onto some hope that your parent isn’t actually a total ass.”

In truth, Scott hadn’t actually thought about it that way. He looks down at his desk, his nails scraping at the fabric of his jeans. Maybe he is holding onto a sliver of hope. Sure, his dad could leave tomorrow and he’d be fine, go back to normal, and be happy with that. But it wouldn’t be the worst thing if his dad meant everything he was saying and wasn’t just spouting lies to get Scott to let him back in.

“Hey, here’s an idea, totally okay if you say no.” Stiles waves a hand vaguely. “What if I’m there, too? Do you think that’ll help ease some of the tension or…?”

Scott perks up immediately. “Yes. Please. Would you?”

Stiles laughs, nods, and says, “Yeah, of course, dude! When should I come over? Should I just go to yours with you as soon as we’re out of here, or should I go home first?”

“Home first, I’ll text you, then you come over?” Scott suggests.

Stiles is on-board, no complaints. Scott really appreciates it, especially because he knows how much Stiles doesn’t like his dad. And he knows how uncomfortable Stiles is around him for the same reasons that Scott hasn’t come out to him yet. Stiles is out to everyone already, and happy about it, partially because no one bothered. But he remembers what Scott’s dad was like and everything he said as well as Scott does. He won’t go back into the closet just to feel safe around him. Scott would never want him to. 

The class finally seems to speed up and end. Scott waves a temporary goodbye to Stiles, getting on his bike. He checks his phone before he leaves. His mom’s reply has finally come through. She wasn’t aware either, but she promises to be home in a half-hour. Scott thanks her then quickly replies to his dad’s initial text, letting him know he’ll be home for dinner. Then he starts up his bike and reluctantly makes his way there.

***

Stiles waits when he gets home.  _ Patiently _ is not the word. He paces, he changes clothes about seven times, he makes a quick dinner for his dad, in case he comes home without having eaten. And throughout the entire time that he’s waiting not at all patiently for the text that’s going to throw him into the lion’s den, he goes over what’s going to happen at dinner.

Nothing bad, hopefully. But he’s not counting on that.

He’ll be civil and as polite as required, not say anything unnecessarily harsh or loathing, even if he’s thinking it. He’s just going to be there for Scott, as moral and emotional support. Otherwise, it’ll be like he’s not even there. Unless Scott’s dad says something first. Then everything’s out the window.

But he’s forcing himself to have at least some hope that it’s not going to come to that. At the very least that Scott’s dad can get through one dinner without saying something infuriatingly stupid.

His phone finally buzzes with a text from Scott. Stiles quickly throws a lid onto the very healthy salad, plasters a sticky note to it so that his dad knows to eat it, grabs a jacket, and heads out in his jeep for Scott’s house. The text itself already has Stiles worried. Just the tone of it, he knows Scott too well, and he can tell by the little typed-out smiley face that things must already be uncomfortable.

He’s pulling up outside the house that’s practically a second home to him within ten minutes. Skipping the porch steps, Stiles opens the front door and walks in. He and Scott established years ago with each other and their parents that there was no point in knocking anymore.

“Yo, Scotty!” he calls out as he closes the door. “Your knight in… a not so shining but still functional jeep has arrived!”

He walks into the living room and finds Scott and Melissa, sitting on the couch, and across from them, Scott’s dad. No one even has to say anything for Stiles to pick up on the tension. It’s suffocating already.

The instant relief on Scott’s face when he sees him though lessens it slightly. He grins at him, standing to move towards him. 

“You’re soaking,” Scott comments, eyeing his accurately described appearance with amusement and fondness. “Is it bad out there?”

“Okay, I know this is going to be a nightmare but you don’t need to resort to small talk so soon,” Stiles mutters, just to get that soft chuckle out of Scott, before he more loudly adds, “But yeah, it’s coming down really hard out there. I could barely see out of my windshield. Little worried about getting home.”

Scott glances at the window, able to hear the rain pounding against the glass and the porch. It does sound a lot worse than it was when they left school. The knot in Stiles’ stomach tightens.

Storms never used to bother him; in fact, he kind of liked them. But these days, they always seem to be the cause of some supernatural occurrence, and never of the friendly kind. The sound of thunder sets him on edge every time. Hopefully it’s just some rain.

“Hey, if it comes to it, you’re always welcome to stay,” Scott tells him, patting his arm. 

“Yeah, it would be nice if you actually stayed over by coming through the door instead of the window for once,” his mom chimes in, looking over at them from the couch. “Maybe then I wouldn’t keep nearly hitting you with a baseball bat.”

“Yeah, that—I would appreciate avoiding that,” Stiles agrees as Scott snickers.

Scott chances a glance at his dad. He’s quiet. His brow is furrowed into the slightest frown, just watching on in confusion. And a little something bordering on disapproval, or maybe irritation. Scott gives it a second. A combination of all three.

This is going to be an interesting night.

Stiles notices the staring as well. He doesn’t say anything either, just staring back with his lips pressed into a thin line of the most civilised smile he’ll get. Scott thinks his mom couldn’t have picked a more unfortunate time to need to check on dinner in the kitchen. But she does give him the signal asking if he needs her to excuse him for some plausible lie as well, and he shakes his head. 

The only thing worse than this situation right now would be him leaving it and allowing his dad and Stiles to metaphorically rip each other’s heads off. God, he’s glad neither of them are supernatural.  _ Bloodbath _ is a word that comes to mind, in Stiles’ voice no less.

As soon as his mom is out of the room though, Scott realizes that it was going to be a disaster with or without him. His dad finally stands up, gives an awkward clearing of his throat. 

“So,” he tries to start, as if this is completely casual and normal for them, “Stiles. You’re, uh… well, here.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yes, it would appear I am, thank you for informing me. Otherwise, I might’ve thought I was in an interrogation office. Not that this feels a lot different to that.”

Scott has to refrain from even a snicker this time. He can’t quite bite back the smile, but it’s wiped off when his dad scoffs in that exaggerated way he likes to do, rolling his eyes. 

“All right, let me hear it,” Stiles says, everything immediately being tossed out the window. There was no avoiding it, and it’s just easier to do it this way.

“Stiles,” Scott says, gently. “Don’t bother. Seriously. We haven’t even eaten yet.”

“No, no, I think it’s best that your dad get everything he wants to say to me off of his chest right now before it can fester and explode during the lovely meal. So, come on,” Stiles shrugs, crossing his arms with a challenging glint in his eyes that Scott’s all too familiar with. “Hit me with it. Metaphorically speaking,  _ of course _ .”

Scott can feel the shift in the air. His dad’s jaw is as tight as a wind-up toy, forcing whatever it is he wants to say to stay inside. He just breathes out another scoff through his nose instead.

“I don’t have a problem, Stiles,” he says. 

“Oh, yeah, of course not,” Stiles replies, sarcasm dripping from every word. “No problem at all, you just happen to hate my dad and, you know, me. I mean, that’s not a problem at all for me, a lot of people hate me, some for valid reasons, some just because I ‘annoy’ them, but what’s your reason, exactly? Because that’s really what determines if we have a problem or not.”

Scott looks back over at his dad out of sheer curiosity. In all honesty, he’s never fully understood his dad’s dislike of Stiles—not dislike. It’s always been more intense than that. Even when they were kids, he hated that Stiles was Scott’s only friend. It didn’t matter to him that he was all Scott needed or wanted, there was just something that his dad didn’t like about Stiles. 

“There is no problem, Stiles,” his dad says. “And I don’t hate you.”

_ Tick _ . Tick- _ tick _ . Tick. 

Scott’s stomach sinks. He’s lying. Even if he doesn’t hate Stiles, he’s still lying, and he refuses to say about what. Scott sighs. It was foolish to think that tonight could go any other way.

“Look, I appreciate you trying to… make an effort, or whatever, but if this is how it’s going to be, then I’m sorry, but I’d rather you leave,” Scott says, a strange firmness to his voice. 

“I—wait,” his dad quickly shakes his head, “I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to argue. With anyone.” He looks at Stiles. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be here. I was under the impression that I was having dinner with only my son, but—this is fine. I’m… glad you’re here.”

Stiles gives Scott a side-glance. Scott tries not to give away the answer he’s looking for, but he finds it anyway. They both know his dad is lying through his teeth so that Scott won’t kick him out. For now, it’s better than nothing.

“All right,” Stiles says, deciding the same. “A truce then. Besides, you technically are still having dinner with Scott, just… ignore that I’m here. Most people do.”

“Shut up.” Scott gently elbows him in the ribs, chuckling. He appreciates Stiles’ attempt to lighten things up a bit and regain a little more civility, and secretly appreciates Stiles’ hand brushing the inside of his arm before he fully pulls it back.

His dad at least cracks a slight smile. Scott’s just thankful that his mom comes back when she does, or else he’s sure something else would have gone wrong. She smiles, clapping her hands together, and clearly choosing to ignore the remains of tension still lingering in the room.

“Nearly done,” she announces. “Just five-ten more minutes. So, why don’t we… sit down?”

“Oh, uh, I’m not sure I can,” Stiles says, giving his still slightly dripping clothes a glance. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the furniture. It’s a really nice couch!”

Scott and his mom both make a face at him. One that he is fairly well acquainted with at this point in his life.

“Stiles, it’s a couch, I think it’ll live,” his mom tells him.

“But are you sure? Is it waterproof?”

“Oh my god,” Scott says. “You know what? You can have a change of clothes. You were going to need some anyway if you’re staying over, so.”

Stiles doesn’t protest this time. He follows Scott out of the room and up the stairs with the promise they’ll be quick. They both admittedly feel bad about leaving Scott’s mom to deal with his dad alone. 

Pulling open a drawer, Scott tosses a pair of sweatpants and a top at Stiles without looking. He hears Stiles’ quiet little chuckle from behind him in the bathroom. 

“What?” Scott asks. 

“Nothing,” Stiles says, but Scott can still hear the smile in his voice. “I just like that you know which of your clothes are my favourites.”

Scott shrugs, ducking his head to hide the smile that Stiles can’t even see anyway. “Well, yeah, they’re the ones you always wear when you come over. Your scent’s all over them half the time.”

“Ah, sorry about that.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Stiles is quiet for a moment. Then he’s chuckling again. 

“Oh my god, what?” Scott asks again, unable to stop himself from laughing along with him.

“Why aren’t you looking at me?”

Scott pauses. He hadn’t even realized he had turned away from him. They just never bother with each other while getting changed; something that came from growing up around each other, a ton of sleepovers, and changing rooms. It was just never something they really cared about. 

A thought crosses Scott’s mind but he doesn’t want to voice it. He tries to shrug, but it’s half-hearted as he swallows. “I, uh… you know, privacy.”

“ _ Okay _ ,” Stiles says slowly, “Well, as much as I appreciate and love how respectful you are, as always, I don’t remember privacy being much of an issue for us? I mean, it’s fine! But… is that all it is?”

Scott feels Stiles’ hand on his shoulder, and he turns around. He’s met with a concerned smile, a frown lining his face. Scott wavers under his gaze and he has to look away.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Scott frowns. “I think so. I don’t know. I just…” He clears his throat, shaking his head. “I guess I didn’t want to do anything to make you… uncomfortable.”

“What?” Stiles’ eyebrows furrow. “Scotty—” He stops himself. Clarity hits him along with a deep-seated hatred for Scott’s dad. “Is this because of your dad being here?”

“What?”

Stiles shrugs, but he’s feeling anything but casual and nonchalant right now. “You used to think like that all the time when we were kids. When your dad was away for work or wasn’t with us, you didn’t mind changing with me, or being, well, us. But every time he was around, even somewhere else in the building, you would get really nervous about doing something wrong.”

Scott knows he’s right. The feeling he’s getting--deep, in his chest, like he can’t breathe and can’t move without fear of misstepping or misspeaking--it’s the same one he carried around with him all the time. 

“I honestly thought that I was fine with it,” Scott admits, looking back up at him. You know, the idea of coming out to him, and not caring what he thinks. But… some part of me… I can’t stop thinking about the things he used to say. It’s just—it’s getting in my head, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” Stiles says gently. “I just don’t like what this is doing to you. You never cared what people thought about you being gay before, not after you stopped seeing your dad. You were happy, and confident, and now…”

Scott sucks in a breath, nodding, and lets it back out on a sigh. 

“I know. I feel like I’m still stuck in the closet. Something about the thought of him knowing… I don’t care what he thinks about me, but at the same time, I—I don’t want him to think about me the way he talked about gay people when we were kids.”

“Hence the turning away, and worrying that you’re doing something wrong out of instinct just by being in the same room as me while I’m changing,” Stiles finishes, understanding. He doesn’t fully get the feeling himself, not in the same way that Scott does. But he understands enough. “Scotty, you know you don’t have to worry about that kind of thing with me.”

“No, I know,” Scott says, sighing again. “I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I guess I’m just more worried than I thought I was. Kind of terrified, actually. I mean, he can leave if he wants, I still don’t care about that, but I just—I don’t know.”

“Hey, you don’t need to explain it to me,” Stiles says, giving a gentle smile as he squeezes Scott’s shoulder. “I get it. And, you don’t have to tell him. It’s none of his business anyway. But… if you  _ do _ want to, then you know that I am right here, and so is your mom.”

Scott smiles back, saying, “I know.” Then he groans, a little over-the-top in that joking way that he knows will smooth out the crease of worry on Stiles’ face. “I just wish it was easier.”

“Yeah, the world tends to make it pretty hard,” Stiles agrees. “But—you’ve come out to your mom! And my dad, and pretty much everyone we know, including  _ Argent _ . And  _ Derek _ . I mean, those are the scariest people in terms of who’s going to judge you, really, so. And—we’ve handled homophobes before.”

“It’s just different with him,” Scott says, moving backwards and taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Stiles drops his hand from Scott’s shoulder. “He didn’t even believe I had asthma! Do you really think he’s going to believe I’m actually gay? He’ll probably try and say I’m faking that as well, I mean—”

“Wait, Scott, that’s it.”

Scott stops, frowning up at Stiles’ lit up, wide-eyed expression. “What’s it?”

Stiles quickly crosses the room to him, saying, “You need a boyfriend! We both know your dad is a man who needs hard, solid proof, I mean, he’s in the FBI, for crying out loud! It’s his whole profession and basically life to require evidence! So, instead of hoping he’ll be any normal, loving parent like the two lovely ones we already have, we have to kinda recreate what happened when he didn’t believe your asthma! Remember?!”

Scott racks his memory and thinks he vaguely recalls what Stiles is talking about. 

“He only accepted that you actually had asthma when you had an attack but didn’t have an inhaler on you,” Stiles explains in a rush. “Because you nearly died without it, he realized that you were telling the truth.  _ Evidence _ . So—”

“So, if I had a boyfriend… then my dad would have to believe that I wasn’t lying about not being straight?” Scott ventures, and Stiles nods vigorously. Scott frowns. “Isn’t that just playing into the thing people say, how you need to have been with a guy or a girl to know you’re not actually straight?”

Stiles pauses, mouth opening. “Well… sort of, yeah. And—all right, fine, we are resorting to homophobes logic in a way, and it sucks, but I’m pretty sure it’s the best way to go about getting your dad to actually take you seriously. Again, it sucks so much. Unless, of course, you’d rather tell him about going out with Danny in Freshman year and hope he takes your word for it?”

Scott knows he isn’t serious about that last part. He rolls his eyes at him, letting him know that his mocking suggestion is very much not appreciated. Stiles takes notice and ignores. He sighs.

“Okay, but even if I did think that was a good idea, I’d still have a problem,” Scott points out, but Stiles just looks on in utter bewilderment, not understanding how his genius plan could have a flaw. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a fake one for that matter. And if I’m going to make someone up then I might as well just tell him about Danny, because it’ll have just about as much chance of convincing him.”

The confusion quickly leaves Stiles’ face. “Oh, well, that’s not a problem, dumbass! Hello! Perfect convincing fake boyfriend material sitting right here, on your bed, right next to you?”

Scott stares at Stiles, raising an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, of course!” Stiles says with a touch of offence. “I’ll have you know that I would be a great boyfriend, and I have references to prove that! Two—I have two references. And Malia really wouldn’t give a fair and accurate summary, so, maybe just one. But I would definitely trust Erica to give a fair review of our brief entanglement in eighth grade.”

Scott laughs, and Stiles lets the moment linger with a smile. Then he narrows his eyes at him.

“Okay, you’re aware that you can just say no, right?” he jokes.

“No, no—it’s perfect!” Scott quickly says, already perking up at the thought of the plan now that it actually makes sense. “My dad knows that you’re bi, and—I mean, if he was going to expect me to be dating any guy, it would be you. It’s the most realistic scenario, and… it might actually work.”

“Oh.” Stiles straightens up, a little surprised, but definitely pleased. “Well… good! So.” 

He takes a seat beside Scott, taking on that tone he uses for scheming, mischief, and everything that gets them in trouble. There’s a bright glint in his eyes to round it all off. 

“Ground rules. We should set some, you know, make sure we both agree on whatever answers we might need to give, and what we’re both okay with in terms of acting, yeah?”

Scott nods, agreeing. They wouldn’t want to go to a lot of effort to make this smoother only to be caught out because Stiles said their first date was at the diner and Scott said it was in the park.

“Right: How long have we been together?” Scott asks.

Stiles thinks. “Well, your mom is going to be as surprised as your dad if we don’t fill her in before we say anything, so… three months? Four?”

Scott shakes his head. “No, we should make sure she knows, that way we can make it more believable. Then we can say over a year.”

“Ooh, already had an anniversary,” Stiles says, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows, “I like it. Speaking of, what did we do for that anniversary?”

“I doubt he’s going to ask that,” Scott objects.

Stiles gives him a look and Scott reads it perfectly.

“FBI Agent.” Scott sighs. “You’re right. Uh, okay… we… went to the ice skating rink?”

“Because that’s where we had our first date,” Stiles continues on, lighting up like an excited puppy. “Good, good, okay, and our first date was a double date?”

“Started as a group hang” —they both wince— “with Lydia, Jackson… Allison was there as well.”

“And Danny? Just so there were six of us, makes more sense that way,” Stiles says, nodding confidently. “Plus, this would have been after you two broke up, so probably hanging out to make things feel casual between you again.”

“It was during winter,” Scott continues, “a few days before New Year—”

“About two weeks,” Stiles chimes in. “We got together just before Christmas, that way we’re only about a week away from our second anniversary.”

“On Christmas Eve,” Scott agrees. “There was a small party at Lydia’s.”

“Our first kiss was under the mistletoe.”

Scott tries to suppress a smile, biting the inside of his cheek. Stiles notices.

“What?” he asks, a smile creeping onto his face. “Too cheesy? Scott, come on, what is it?”

“It’s just… Mistletoe was always how I imagined having my first kiss,” Scott says. “You know, before I actually had my first kiss, and before a lot of people nearly died from mistletoe. I just always liked the idea of it.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Stiles says. “That’s why I thought it would make sense for our first kiss.”

Scott blinks in surprise, his smile growing slightly. He doesn’t even remember telling Stiles about that. They were still kids when he believed that that’s how it would happen, and then thirteen when he had his first kiss, not under the mistletoe. 

But Stiles remembers vividly. He thought it was cheesy, and very much too Christmas-y for his little Jewish heart, despite celebrating Christmas with him and his family every year. Yet, when Scott told him how he wanted to have that cliched, cutesy moment, Stiles had decided then and there that he would have it. Of course, he never managed to keep himself to it.

Scott clears his throat when he realizes he’s staring, and thankfully breaks Stiles out of his own unfocused gazing, neither of them realizing that the other was lost in the same moment. 

“Uh, yeah,” Scott says. “Yeah, that works. And, everyone knows, right?”

Stiles takes a breath, nodding, and saying, “If we can tell your mom beforehand, then yeah, everyone knows. My dad—who was very happy, not at all surprised—and all of our friends.”

“So… that’s all the details worked out then? Are we missing anything?”

“Unless he plans on interrogating us about our future plans, then yeah,” Stiles says, quickly going over everything they’ve already discussed. “And if that’s the case, the most we’ll probably have to say is that we are looking for a cheap apartment somewhere in Northern California, we haven’t fully decided where yet.”

“And you’re looking into law enforcement training programs, so that you can work at the station with your dad,” Scott says, and cracks a grin. “Or so you can open up that PI business you always wanted when we were kids.”

“And you’re going to UC Davis to become the absolute best vet.” Stiles nudges his leg, grinning back. “And so that I can have the pleasure of calling you Dr. McCall on a daily basis. Oh, yeah, I definitely like the sound of that.”

Scott rolls his eyes, shoving him gently. “Do we have all of the bases covered or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think that’s everything,” Stiles says, then gestures between them. “Now, the actual ground rules. PDA? I know it’s one night, but we need to be convincing. I’m realizing we may also need to fake a breakup at some point in the near future, but we’ll handle that later. Where do we stand?”

"Casual touches are fine. Like that thing you do when you put your hand on my thigh."

"And that thing  _ you _ do where you take my hand when I'm fidgeting, and you trace little circles into my palm and the back of my hand."

"We're meant to be coming up with rules for things we don't already do," Scott points out. "Like…"

Stiles’ expression gives away where his mind is straying to. "Like…" He sucks in a breath, and quickly says, "Kissing? We shouldn't need to, as most people would probably refrain from kissing in front of their parents anyway, but you know, just in case. Yay or nay?" 

Scott's face heats up—the flush spreads down his neck, across his chest, along his arms. He tries not to be obvious about it. It's strange that he's even getting worked up at the thought of this at all. 

“Uh, yeah, that would be okay,” he says, but then hesitates. “What kind of kiss are we talking about?”

Stiles shrugs. “Nothing too over-the-top, obviously. Just, you know, a kiss.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to look surprised if you go to kiss me because I didn’t catch some unspoken signal or something.”

“Or we could just, not kiss. Problem solved.”

“No, I don’t mind kissing you, I just want to be prepared,” Scott says. “Like, _ will _ you give me a signal before you do it? And who should pull away first? Do I lean in or do you lean in?”

“Okay, are you sure you’ve actually kissed someone before?” Stiles asks.

Scott rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but not while pretending to date someone. Usually, it just… you know, comes naturally. And it’s never usually in front of other people. I don’t know what to expect, I don’t know how  _ you _ kiss.”

“Fine, if that’s the issue, then come here.”

Scott stops. Goes statue-still, totally frozen. “Wait, what?”

Stiles gestures towards himself. “Well, it makes sense to have kissed at least once before trying to fake one, right? So, that way, we’ll both be prepared if the situation arises. Sound good?”

Scott’s heart is beating so fast that he’s almost certain even Stiles must be able to hear it. His stomach lurches and rolls over itself at the suggestion. Not because he doesn’t want to; surprisingly, he’s almost excited about the idea. The lurching is more of a pack of butterflies, really. That’s weird, definitely never had that before. Not with  _ Stiles _ .

He finds himself fumbling, but nodding, and presses his open mouth closed. “Yeah. That’s—that’s smart.”

“Okay then,” Stiles says.

He takes in a breath, then he’s leaning forward. Just like that, barely any time for Scott to collect himself. But his eyes know when to close, out of some instinct, and he holds his breath right on time to lean in. He finds him in the middle with a brush of their lips. Stiles presses forward a little more, making full contact, and kisses him properly.

Scott’s heartbeat is somewhere in his stomach and his throat and his head at the same time. He was expecting it to be… different. It is, but he had thought that kissing Stiles would be stranger, would feel less comfortable. But, actually, it feels more comfortable than any other kiss he’s had. They’ve never done it before, and yet it’s like they both know exactly what the other is thinking, when they’re going to move.

Angling his head the tiniest bit, Scott presses forward as well. Stiles easily matches the change in pace when he kisses him faster, staying in sync. It doesn’t even surprise Scott when Stiles’ hand slips up the side of his neck, thumb under his jaw, tilting his head up. It does surprise him how willingly Stiles lets his control melt away the second that Scott’s hands find their way to resting on Stiles’ thighs and his heartbeat skyrockets.

Scott pulls back, breaking the kiss. They’re both a little out of breath, Stiles somewhat more than Scott. Although Scott feels pretty breathless when he takes in the state of Stiles. Pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, lips pink and parted and a little more swollen than usual. 

The realization that this is what Stiles looks like after he’s been kissed hits him. This is what he looks like after _ he _ ’s kissed him. And, he has to admit, he’s pretty fond of this look. 

Blowing out a breath, Stiles nods slowly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and Scott’s stomach does a somersault. Oh no. 

Oh,  _ no _ . No, no, no. 

He forces his eyes back up to Stiles’ gaze, pressing his own lips together. 

“Okay…” Stiles says, slowly, and  _ oh no _ , why does his voice sound like that? Why is it deeper like that, and  _ why _ can Scott not think about anything other than kissing him again? 

He can see the bob in Stiles’ throat when he swallows and that’s not better, because now there are images of his lips against Stiles’ throat, his teeth scraping his skin ever so gently, Stiles tilting his head back as far as possible while his hands tangle in Scott’s hair, making these little noises that—

“That was… that was good, uh.” Scott snaps out of it as Stiles clears his throat, shaking his head. He almost looks as flustered as Scott feels. “Yeah, probably shouldn’t do that in front of your parents.”

“Absolutely not,” Scott agrees. 

“It was good, though,” Stiles says again. “Like… really good. In terms of, you know, for practice, so that we’re not, um, caught off-guard or anything. ‘Cause, now we’ll be super comfortable with just a—a normal, simple kiss. A simple, fake kiss. Nothing to it.”

He’s rubbing the heel of his hand along his—Scott’s—sweatpants, next to Scott’s own hand still resting on his thigh. Scott can hear his heart ticking away like a woodpecker. The air is suffocating with chemosignals. 

“Yeah,” Scott says, and tries to sound at least kind of convincing. “Nothing to it at all. All just… acting. Right?”

Stiles looks at him, wide-eyed. “Uh-huh. Acting! Totally! We’re great at that!”

“So… we should go back downstairs, right? No bases left to cover?”

Stiles swallows again and Scott’s stomach clenches. Shaking his head, Stiles says, “Nope, don’t think so. You’re confident about the kissing thing now?”

“Oh, yeah,” Scott breathes out in a chuckle, and Stiles grins. “Definitely.”

“Okay, then we’re good! We are officially in a fake relationship!”

Scott bites his lip, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Okay, but now I’m a little worried we’re going to seem over-the-top.”

Stiles nods without missing a beat. “Yeah, me too. We need to be casual. Composed. We can manage that, right? I mean, a casual kiss can’t be that hard for us to do?”

Scott stays quiet. In all honesty, right now, in this very moment, he’s not sure Stiles is right about that, because his mind won’t shut up for some reason. He’s never seriously thought about kissing Stiles aside from their joking little pecks on the cheek when they were kids, but now that he’s done it, it’s pretty much all he wants to do.

“Just—come here, we are not half-assing this.”

“I feel like preparing for it is only going to make it less convincing. I mean, we’re not exactly going to be able to tell the other to get ready because we’re about to kiss, can we?”

“Well, no, but if we get comfortable enough, then we’ll be fine with it being a surprise,” Stiles reasons.

“I would say we were pretty comfortable with the first one,” Scott says, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Anymore comfortable and I think we’ll be practising more than a kiss.”

Stiles blinks, eyebrows rising high on his forehead. “Did you just make a sex joke? Dear go—since when were  _ you _ the one jokingly hitting on  _ me _ ?”

Scott rolls his eyes and waves a hand at him. “Let’s just figure this out, okay? Come here, kiss me. Just… not like you did before.”

“Why?” Stiles’ mouth twitches as he shifts closer, his disbelief vanishing fairly quickly in place of teasing, because that’s easier, that’s safer. Well, not safer, but it feels more natural for him than this entire situation. “Am I too hard to resist?”

He doesn’t give Scott a chance to answer, because that is dangerous. before he leans in again. Scott still has a few milliseconds to close his eyes, meet him in the middle. This time, it’s just one kiss, their lips moving together once, twice, slow and just as heart-racing as the first, before they break apart.

Stiles pulls back, looking at Scott questioningly. “That felt more convincing, right? More realistic, and definitely more pg.”

Scott swallows, sucking his lips in, and nods. “Mhm. Yep.”

“What? Still not good?” Stiles asks, frowning. “Because I’m pretty sure anyone would believe that kiss. It felt pretty convincing to me!”

That might be the problem, Scott thinks, his stomach-churning. It’s a little too convincing. Possibly because he wasn’t acting, and that’s really a problem, because he needs to be acting. That’s the point of this. That it’s fake.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea…” Scott says, finally moving his hand from Stiles’ thigh. 

“What? No, of course it is!” Stiles insists, grinning, completely oblivious to everything going on in Scott’s head right now. “Look, I know, our chemistry is very hard to resist, but we can do it. It’s just one night! And I will kiss you with the least amount of passion I can possibly muster, all right? But, you know, enough to still be convincing.”

Scott makes a face, snorting. “How do you do both?”

The look on Stiles’ face tells Scott he shouldn’t have asked. He couldn’t resist. 

“Well…” Stiles’ voice goes soft, quiet, a murmur as he leans closer, eyes flicking down to Scott’s lips, “... kind of like this?”

Scott’s almost worried to close his eyes this time. But they do it on their own the second that he feels Stiles’ lips brush his. It’s a feather-light press for a second, and Scott’s heart is beating too fast for his completely still body. Then Stiles kisses him again, with a little more pressure, enough for Scott to actually reciprocate—which he does. They’re so slow that it feels like everything else around them is moving at the same speed. Everything frozen in time.

At this point, Scott is having a hard time telling if either of them are acting anymore. Either way, he leans further into Stiles, shifting slightly on the bed to move closer. His hand gently smooths along Stiles’ thigh, and Scott admittedly relishes in the uptick of his heartbeat. His skin warms beneath Stiles’ hands when they move to either side of his neck, pulling him in closer. 

It is the complete opposite of lacking in passion is all Scott can think, but he has to admit that it’s definitely convincing. He’s so distracted by Stiles’ lips, hands, his scent, his heartbeat, he doesn’t hear—

“Oh— _ oh _ , my god.” His mom quickly turns away, looking at anything but them from the doorway.

“Mom!”

They’re immediately scrambling apart, Stiles practically jumping away from Scott, hands and all returning to his own lap. Scott’s hasty to pull his own hand back from Stiles’ thigh. His entire face is flushing with heat and a good amount of something akin to embarrassment. He feels like a fourteen-year-old that just got caught with the door closed. Then again, an eighteen-year-old with the door closed isn’t much better.

“Um.” His mom throws them a cautious glance, realizes it’s safe and looks at them properly, but she still fumbles for the right words to say. “I was just… coming to check on you, because dinner’s ready, and you said you’d be quick… I… god, please tell me that getting a change of clothes was not a metaphor.”

“Mom! God—no, it wasn’t,” Scott quickly says, shaking his head frantically. “It’s not…”

“It’s not what it looks like!” Stiles chimes in. “We were just acting!”

“Oh, acting?” his mom says, her eyebrows rising with her disbelief. “Is that right?”

Scott groans, closing his eyes, and kind of wishing the earth would swallow him whole. Instead, he explains the plan to her. She keeps the same expression the whole way through, making it difficult to tell what she’s thinking. Though, Scott thinks he can take a pretty good guess. 

When they finish explaining, she’s quiet. Very, very quiet. Then she shakes her head.

“Of all the things you two have come up with, this… this is by far the most unbelievable… and yet, completely believable,” she says, to two frowns, then she sighs. “All right. Dinner’s ready.” She points at them. “You two. Downstairs.”

She moves to leave, but Scott’s still reeling slightly and can’t help but stop her in his confusion.

“Wait—mom!” She turns back to them as he shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re okay with this? You don’t… think it’s a bad idea?”

“Oh, I think it’s probably high on the list of your bad ideas,” she assures him. Then she smiles. “But, honey, I want you to be happy. And, trust me, I understand the logic behind it when it comes to your father. So, if this is what makes you most comfortable, then I’m not going to stop you. Just… make it convincing. Do not underestimate him.”

Scott can’t believe she’s even encouraging them on this. He musters a disbelieving smile back and a quick nod as she leaves the room. She leaves the door open as she heads back downstairs. 

“Did we… just get your mom’s blessing to date?” Stiles asks, uncertainly, staring at the doorway with a frown. 

“I guess so,” Scott answers. He hits Stiles’ arm gently, nods his head towards the door and says, “Come on.”

Stiles bounds to his feet with him, and they hurry back down after his mom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have been writing this for MONTHS (technically years, but shush), and I'm not even finished yet, but Christmas is over, Hanukkah is definitely over, and I don't want to be waiting until after New Year and realize that I never finished this in time and then need to wait another whole year before I'm able to upload this, SO! First chapter, here we go!! Hope you guys enjoy!!


	2. Chapter 2

The look that Scott’s dad gives them when they walk into the room is the unmistakable look of someone who knows that  _ something _ is going on, and they know that they are not being clued into what that something is. 

Well, at least they’re off to a good start. And they haven’t even had to do anything yet. Other than… what they did. The kissing. 

In the moment, in the safety of Scott’s bedroom, it didn’t feel that strange. It felt amazing, actually. And Stiles is pretty sure Scott would agree! But now, down here with other people, it’s starting to kick in that he just kissed Scott.  _ Three times _ . It’s kind of taking a lot of his self-control not to let his thirteen-year-old self with the biggest crush on Scott cheer that it finally happened. Even if it was in this context. 

He’s totally over those feelings now, of course, it was just a momentary thing that only lasted up until Scott started dating Danny. By the time they broke up a year later, he was over it. It’s just good to know that he was right all this time about what kissing Scott would feel like. Fireworks, explosions, stomach doing impossible acrobatics. The whole cheesy shebang. 

Stiles just shoots Scott’s dad a thin smile that he tries to make at least a little convincing. He follows Scott to the table and happily takes the seat that he pulls out for him. Honestly, he’s feeling a little bit smug about this whole thing, and a little giddy. He looks across the table and catches Melissa’s eyes. 

His stomach lurches and he’s reminded that he was just caught making out with her son, with the door closed, and their hands pretty much all over each other. He looks down at the table, his face heating up as he squirms a little more now.

“So,” he quickly speaks up, clearing his throat of the incredibly awkward tension trying to choke him, “uh, dinner looks great! Thanks so much for having me, my dad’s still down at the station, working on… well.”

He trails off, his eyes darting back over to Scott’s dad. At least he has the good sense to look sheepish, not meeting his eyes. So, bringing up his dad was not a great starter for a conversation. Not one that he wants to end well, at least. 

“You’re always welcome here, Stiles, you know that,” Scott’s mom jumps in with a smile, saving them from the head-first dive into disaster so soon. Picking up her knife and fork, she adds, “You are part of the family after all.”

Stiles’ eyebrows raise ever so slightly and he glances at Scott, whose eyes have widened the most minuscule amount. Their surprise at her playing along so easily goes unnoticed by Scott’s dad, his head turning sharply to stare at Melissa. Something in his expression reads close to displeasure.

If she notices, she doesn’t bother to acknowledge it. Scott and Stiles discreetly brush it off and compose themselves in their haste to follow her lead. If they’re going to do this in a way that will make it easier for Scott’s dad to accept that his one and only son—at least, that they know of—is about as straight as a curly fry, then they can’t make it into a big deal. That’ll only give him an excuse to blow things way out of proportion on the off-chance that he’s not as changed as he claims to be. 

“So,” Scott picks up his own knife and fork, looking straight across at his dad, “how come you’re back in town so soon? I thought you had to go back to work. In San Francisco.”

His dad seems reluctant to let his suspicions drop, his eyebrows furrowed ever so subtly. But he glances at Scott, then focuses his attention fully on him, saying, “Uh, yeah. I did, but I had some free time, and I don’t have to be back there until after the Christmas period, as long as nothing major happens in the department. So, I thought I’d check in!”

Stiles’ heart stops, as physically impossible as that is, he swears it does, because did he just hear that right? Surely not. He can’t have—the universe hates him, that is a well-known and accepted fact, but it cannot hate him this much?!

“Un—until after Christmas?” he asks, feigning mild interest to disguise his utter horror at this piece of news.

“That’s the plan,” Scott’s dad says, nodding. “Maybe not until after New Year, even. There’s a chance it won’t work out that way, but things are looking good for the moment.”

“Oh! Oh, well, that’s just…” Stiles’ eyes dart to Scott, and then to Scott’s mom, and then back, and yep. They’ve all got that similar look of a startled, cornered deer that is very much regretting its life choices right about now. He tries for a smile.”That’s just… wonderful. Isn’t—isn’t that wonderful, Scotty?”

Scott stutters a little in an attempt to share in Stiles’ false delight. “Uh—yeah. Yeah, that’s… that’s great. But where are you going to stay? Your house is in San Francisco. Will you even be able to book a hotel now, won’t they be packed for the holidays?”

His dad shrugs, nonchalant as ever as he cuts into his food. “I’ve already booked a room. Did it a couple weeks ago.”

“So… you just assumed that you’d be staying in Beacon Hills for the next few weeks?” Melissa asks, an eyebrow arching pointedly. Stiles is definitely getting her point, he can hear it loud and clear. 

Scott’s dad, on the other hand? Not so much. 

“Well, yeah,” he says, shrugging again. “It seemed like a good opportunity. Couldn’t let it go to waste. And I wanted to surprise you, Scott.”

“I’m definitely surprised,” Scott says tightly. He shakes his head. “Wait, so, did you do this just expecting that you’d spend the holidays with us?”

He’s faltering now that Scott’s taking the same pointed tone. Stiles has never taken real note of it before but he and Melissa really do sound alike when they get this way. 

“Well… yeah,” he repeats, his hands pausing. “Like I said, I thought it’d be a nice surprise. And, I would like to spend Christmas with my son. Is that really so hard to believe?”

Melissa scoffs. Stiles glances around at them all, staying incredibly silent. He notices the twitch in Scott’s jaw, how tightly wound it is. And him. His fingers are curled into the palm of his hand on his thigh. 

“Considering I’ve spent the last five Christmases without you?” Scott’s voice isn’t cold, just lacking emotion beyond disdain. “Yeah, I’d say it’s pretty hard to believe.”

His dad stares back at him, neither of them wavering. Until he breaks, sighing. He looks away from Scott. There’s silence for a moment. Stiles throws another glance at Scott’s hand, still curled into a fist. His own leg is bouncing away. 

“Okay,” Scott’s dad says quietly a moment later. “I deserve that. But, I want things to be different. That’s why I’m here, you know that. I’m trying to make it better, but that’s—it’s not so easy. Especially if you won’t let me.”

“What if I don’t want that?” Scott asks bluntly. “What if all I want from you is for you to leave?”

His dad pauses again, then takes a breath, and says, “Then I’d respect that decision and I’d go. But… is that what you want?”

Stiles watches Scott’s face. He can see Melissa out of the corner of his eye doing the same, both wondering the same thing. Stiles knows for a fact that had he asked Melissa the same question, the answer would have been quick and simple. Hell, even Stiles knows what he’d like to say to him.

But it’s up to Scott. He’s his dad. It’s his life. 

Scott looks down, thinking it over. But Stiles knows already what he’s going to say. As much as Scott doesn’t want him here, doesn’t forgive him for anything he did, he’s always willing to give people second chances, and thirds if necessary. Even in the most irredeemable mistakes and choices he sees an opportunity for change, and he’s always willing to let them try. Part of Stiles wonders just how many times, though.

“No.” Scott looks back up at his dad. “Stay.”

Melissa lets out a quiet exhale as his dad beams at Scott. Stiles can’t say he blames Melissa for not being thrilled. The idea of Scott’s dad being around even longer to antagonize his own dad and put his position as sheriff even more at risk isn’t one that makes him all that joyous. 

But he puts on a smile all the same. If it makes Scott happy, then that’s all that matters right now. Everything else can come later. 

“Right.” His dad gestures around the table, chuckling with renewed delight. “Should we eat then?”

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Melissa says, and finally is able to actually take a bite. 

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Stiles chimes in.

Just as he’s about to take a bite of his own, there’s a loud rumble, a whip-like crack striking them all into silence once more, a flash of bright white-purple light from all of the windows. Stiles can’t move for a whole five seconds. He’s pretty sure his heart couldn’t either, now trying to make up for it by going the speed of a freaking freight train. 

Scott looks at him, and he knows that concerned little frown, seen it a million and ten times. He tries to laugh it off, swallowing the lump lodging itself in his throat. 

“I didn’t know there was meant to be a storm tonight,” Scott’s dad comments with a frown of his own, with less concern and more confusion. 

“Yeah, me neither,” Melissa says, and glances at the two of them.

He also knows that look. The look of silently questioning if a storm isn’t just a storm and is actually a warning, an omen, of a fast-approaching supernatural doom. It’s usually the cause of most storms in this town since the nemeton. 

Scott and Stiles look at each other, but neither of them has an answer. As far as Stiles is aware, there has been no sign of anything supernaturally evil since… the Nogitsune. After they got rid of it, things went quiet again. Which probably means nothing good since it’s been two months of, well, nothing. Knowing their luck, old jolly saint Nick’s going to come down the chimney on Christmas Eve with a spiked tongue and horns, Krampus style.

Stiles mentally hopes, begs, and prays on his metaphorical knees for no holiday-themed supernatural creatures to show up anytime soon. Halloween’s already ruined for him, and while he may not technically celebrate Christmas aside from just enjoying the festivities with his friends, he doesn’t exactly want it ruined for him either. 

“Maybe it’ll calm down soon,” Scott says, with a hopeful note in his voice. 

Another rumble tears over their heads, followed closely by more flashes of light, with less time in between each one. 

“Or not.”

“It should pass,” Melissa says, shrugging. 

No more than a second after the words leave her mouth, every window lights up with flashes of purple and white, and the sky makes a noise like it is quite literally being split open to let out the downpour of rain that’s lashing against the whole house. 

“Okay, can people stop saying optimistic things?” Stiles says. “Jinxing the universe here.”

“It’s okay,” Scott says, then quickly changes course of assurance when Stiles shoots him a warning look. He places a hand on his arm. “Hey, since you’re staying over, we can do what we always do during storms.”

“Fort and video games?”

Scott grins, rubbing his hand up and down his arm in that slow, subtle motion that Stiles barely ever notices until he’s calmed down and then figures out what he was doing. Nodding, Scott says, “And movies. No school tomorrow, so.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Stiles agrees, returning his grin. It’s not quite full and there’s a nervous rabbit in his leg making it thump like some comical cartoon character, his heart still the speed of a woodpecker. 

“Lucky for you two,” Melissa says, shooting the window a grudging look, as if the storm is personally out to get her. “I have a double shift at the hospital tomorrow. With this luck, I’ll probably get called in tonight.”

Stiles does not for a second miss Scott’s dad perking up when she says that. His eyes dart from her to Scott, a certain gleam in them. Stiles’ own narrow. He has a bad feeling already and he hasn’t even opened his mouth to say anything yet.

“You worked a double shift yesterday,” Scott protests, his brow furrowing in concern. “This is the first time you’ve been home in two days. Aren’t you allowed at least a day off?”

Melissa shakes her head, but she sends him a gentle, apologetic smile as she says, “Honey, I can barely ever get Christmas day off. You know how it is. Trust me, if I could afford to take the day off—hell, the week—I absolutely would. But, I don’t control the shifts, and the hospital always needs everyone they can get on-call during this time of year. Who else is going to deal with the many Santa's with alcohol poisoning and the elves with battle wounds from ten-year-olds armed with giant candy canes?”

“Hey, that elf deserved it!” Stiles says, indignant at her accusatory tone. “He was big, and mean, and frankly, I don’t think it was very elf-like of him to tell us, very bluntly, that we wouldn’t get what we asked for.”

“You called him a grinch and said you’d get him fired,” Melissa counters, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, he shouldn’t have called me a brat!” Stiles says. “I was just standing up for Scott, who—he refused to give a candy cane to. That is against all mall elf protocol. No elf should have the right to refuse a small child a candy cane!”

“I didn’t mind,” Scott says, but he’s grinning at him, finally taking his hand back from Stiles’ arm just to nudge his shoulder. “You took three when he wasn’t looking anyway, remember?”

“After you threw your inflatable candy cane balloon at him,” Melissa adds, pointedly. 

Stiles shrugs. “It was a necessary sacrifice. Scott wanted a candy cane, I got him a candy cane. And an extra out of pure spite, because come on, what kind of adult refuses to give two kids candy canes? They were free!”

He gets a laugh out of everyone at that, and he even eases into one himself. Surprisingly, some of the tension actually starts to lift from the air. 

The storm decides to break up the nearing happy atmosphere with the loudest rumble of thunder so far. The rain and wind pick up majorly, beating against the windows and roof so loudly that it’s hard to hear over it. Lightning cracks down in great flashes.

“Is it just me or is that getting worse?” Scott’s dad asks. 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, there’s another flash, and then no light at all. The kitchen is quickly engulfed in total darkness, save for the few flashes of lightning still brightening the sky every few seconds. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna go with it’s getting worse,” Melissa says, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

Stiles’ heart is somewhere in his throat and refuses to come back down. The abruptness of the blackout is unnerving. Realistically, Stiles knows it’s just an average storm causing an average power cut. But his mind can’t help but race with thoughts of dark basements, his bright bedroom suddenly turning into the inside of a dark locker, voices whispering to him. His surprisingly sharp nails dig into his palm as he takes in a sharp inhale.

He feels a hand settle on top of his own, curling around the fist and gently easing his fingers open. When he glances to his right, he catches a glimpse of Scott’s face through the darkness, his eyes starting to adjust. Stiles squeezes his hand, exhaling slowly. 

“It should come back on soon, right?” Scott’s dad questions.

“Eh, sometimes,” Melissa answers. “It can take up to an hour or more, depending on how bad the storm is. And this one does not seem to be going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Candles then,” Scott says, quickly improvising. “We have a bunch of them. If we light all of them, it shouldn’t be so dark then.”

“Ignoring the total fire hazard in that.” Melissa nods, getting up from her seat, her chair scraping against the floor one of the only indicators of her moving. “I’ll get the ones from the bathroom and my room.”

“I—I can help,” Scott’s dad offers, quickly following her lead. 

There’s a pause. Then Melissa seems to cave, it’s hard to tell without seeing her face, but Stiles knows that quiet little sigh of resignation very well. 

“Check in here and around the living room,” she tells him.

Scott and Stiles follow suit too, getting to their feet. Scott lets go of Stiles’ hand, but when they start to move away, he stays close to him, his hand brushing his back. They head upstairs with Melissa to search Scott’s room and any nooks and crannies that some potential source of light may be hiding in. 

When they’re alone, Stiles can’t help but get out the thoughts that have been gnawing at him since the moment that Scott’s dad said anything at all. 

“So… he’s gonna be here until after New Year,” he says, and hopes the skepticism doesn’t show in his voice, as he digs through a drawer in the cabinet outside Scott’s bedroom. “Are you really okay with that?”

Scott pauses in his own search from inside the room, then resumes a moment later. “I don’t know. I guess… I want to give him the chance? See if he actually sticks to his word.”

“I get that,” Stiles says, nodding. “And, uh… what about the plan? Are you still coming out to him? If not, totally cool, we can call the whole thing off, no problem.”

There’s another pause. Stiles glances into the room and finds Scott shaking his head while he rummages through the stuff on his desk. He procures two candles from the pile.

Then he says, “No, I still want to tell him. And I still think that your plan could work. Maybe.”

“Yeah, totally!” Stiles agrees. He finds three little tealights stashed underneath some old decorations and closes the drawer, moving to the next one. “Just, uh… you know that, what with your dad now planning on being here for the holidays and New Year, that… that, well, complicates the plan.”

Scott frowns, confused as he sets about checking underneath his bed for any old discarded candles that may have gotten lost. “In what way? Do you not wanna do it anymore?”

“No! No, I mean—that’s not the issue, at all,” Stiles hastily assures him. “I’m fine with this, one-hundred-percent. But, uh, I just mean… we’d have to keep it going for longer.”

“Oh yeah.” Scott pauses, crouched by the bed with a thoughtful look. “I didn’t really think about that.”

“Yeah, so,” Stiles shrugs, “either we’d need to fake a breakup at some point during the holidays—”

Scott grimaces. “Oh, that wouldn’t be good. Everyone would be awkward about it, because—oh god, we’d need to either let everyone in on the plan or we’d have to let them think that we’re actually dating as well. And a breakup? God no.”

“Total nightmare, right?” Stiles says, nodding empathetically. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. So, if we’re agreed that we can’t fake a break-up during the holidays, to save everyone the awkwardness of that, our two options would then come down to telling our friends what we’re doing and hoping they’ll go along with it until after the holidays—”

“Where we could then fake a break up, because my dad would be back in San Francisco,” Scott continues for him, nodding along now as well. 

“—Or not telling them,” Stiles finishes. “Which, in my opinion, would be more confusing, and has far more possibilities for issues to arise. I mean, there’s no chance of avoiding every single one of our friends while your dad’s here, not on the last day of Hanukkah or with Christmas and New Year, and all he’d have to do is mention us being ‘together’ and that would completely blow it up in our faces, because we’d have already told him that we’ve been together over a year.”

“And it would be weird if none of our friends knew about us since we’re both out.” Scott sighs. “So… what do we do? Make our friends lie for us, or lie to our friends and try to avoid them until after New Year?”

“You know, when you say it like that, neither sounds good.”

Stiles stops searching, leaning against the cabinet. He chews his bottom lip, trying to think, and definitely ignoring the storm outside, not at all digging his teeth in harder to his lip. 

“We should tell them,” Scott decides after a few beats of thunder and roaring winds. “It’ll be better for everyone, because then we’re totally covered on our story, my dad will be more likely to believe us, and we can still spend the holidays with our friends.”

“Yeah, okay, good,” Stiles agrees easily. “That means I should tell my dad as well.”

“Definitely,” Scott says, half of him disappearing under the bed. He returns to view a few seconds later, adding three jar candles to the pile on the bed. “Okay, I’ve got seven. You?”

Stiles quickly counts the ones he stuffed in his pockets, adding them to the ones he sat on top of the cabinet while he was looking. “Nine. Mostly small ones, one medium, one big.”

“I think that’ll be enough.”

Scott gets to his feet, bringing the pile of candles wrapped in one of his shirts. They head back downstairs and find Melissa and Scott’s dad in the living room, a few candles already lit around them. They get tossed a gaslighter and the four of them go about lighting the rest of the candles until the living room is bathed in a bright enough orange glow that they can at least all see each other and the majority of their surroundings. 

Then they bring their plates from the kitchen and sit around the couches instead. Scott takes a seat next to Stiles, much to his great relief. He's able to relax a little better, even with the storm still raging on noisily, and it means that Scott's able to give him some small comfort in a brush of his hand, leaning his shoulder against Stiles' so that he can feel him, knows he's there, knows that nothing is wrong.

When Stiles’ phone buzzes, he nearly jumps out of his skin and elbows Scott in the ribs. He’s actually thankful when the storm gives a particularly loud crash of thunder and draws everyone’s attention to that.

He pulls out his phone and checks the notification. A text from his dad. He opens it up and does a quick read of it; it’s just him checking in, saying he got the salad he left for him on the kitchen table, and asking if he’s going to need a ride home due to the storm or if he can make it back okay.

He shoots a quick text back to let him know he’s going to stay over at Scott’s. Part of him considers telling him about the plan in a brief summary, just to prepare him, but he decides it’s probably best to leave it for a face-to-face conversation. That way it’ll be easier to explain why it’s not as strange as it sounds. 

“Everything okay?” Scott asks him quietly, stirring him from his reverie, having thought he was going unnoticed. But Scott’s shoulder is still pressing against his, and he’s watching him with a little crease of concern in his forehead. 

Stiles wants to do anything to smooth it away. Hell, he’d kiss him again just to see make it disappear. It worked the last three times. 

“Yeah,” Stiles tells him, lowering his voice, “just my dad. I’ve told him I’m staying the night here. That’s still okay, right?”

Scott makes a little noise as if Stiles is out of his mind, grinning. “Of course it’s okay. And—if my dad’s going to be staying the night as well, then I definitely am going to need my fake boyfriend and real best friend for moral support.”

Stiles starts to grin back, then blinks, his mind coming to a lurching halt. “Wait, he’s what?”

He shoots a glance over at Scott’s dad, talking away to Melissa, who’s sipping from her glass of water like she’s really not listening. His bets are on that being likely.

“Because of the storm,” Scott explains. “The news alerts are saying the roads are flooding. There’s no way for him to get to the hotel tonight, so he’s sleeping on the couch.”

“Ah, lovely,” Stiles mutters, his voice tight. There are a few other choice words he’d like to utter right now, but for Scott’s sake, he bites hard on his tongue to keep them in. 

As if waltzing back into town  _ wasn’t enough _ , inserting himself back into Scott’s and Melissa’s lives  _ wasn’t enough _ , assuming that they would want him to be part of their holidays  _ wasn’t enough _ . No. He just had to also insert himself into their home. 

“Oh, and speaking of fake boyfriend,” Stiles adds, lowering his voice a little more on the last two words, just to be safe, “are you still telling him tonight or are we delaying that?”

Scott hesitates a second, also shooting his dad a glance, then saying, “Not tonight. Now that I have more time.”

Stiles nods. “Totally, understood. We won’t put the plan into action for now.”

“We can still… test the waters a bit, build up to it” Scott says, shrugging. There’s a gleam in his eyes that Stiles has known him long enough to have seen far more times than the average person. That is a gleam of mischief. 

This was Stiles’ plan, but Scott is clearly all on-board for it now if he wasn’t originally. It’s actually surprising him just how much Scott seems to be into this idea. Hesitant at first, sure, he’s not so hesitant now, untucking his arm from Stiles’ side to rest it behind him, stretched out along the top of the couch. 

“Bold move,” Stiles murmurs under his breath. “But all right. I’m down.”

He reaches over and steals a curly fry from Scott’s plate, using it as a guise to more casually lean into Scott’s side. Scott raises an eyebrow but Stiles merely grins, biting off half of the fry as he relaxes into his new position with Scott’s hand coming to a rest on his opposite shoulder. It’s still dark enough that it’ll be difficult to notice.

It's actually  _ a lot _ more comfortable like this. Easier to steal food off of Scott's plate, and for Scott to retaliate by doing the same with his. Easier to ignore the storm with Scott's arm around him and the feeling of his voice vibrating through his chest when he speaks or chuckles. 

Stiles isn't an idiot. Neither is Scott's dad. He spots him sending them these sly little glances, watching them with discreet but obvious enough suspicion and a little something else that Stiles is ignoring, for Scott's sake, because he wants him to be right about his dad. He wants Scott to be happy, and not have to deal with the disappointment that he knows would hurt more than he'd let on if Stiles is right about that look. 

There are no questions about it throughout the rest of dinner, at least. It works exactly the way they want it to; testing the waters, nothing more. Stiles doesn’t know if Scott’s seeing the water rocking gently like he does. They just finish up with dinner, leaving the dishes on the kitchen table for the morning when, hopefully, the electricity will be back on. 

Stiles lingers downstairs while Scott grabs an extra blanket and pillow for his dad to crash on the couch. Then Melissa shoos him with a look, clearly knowing she’s part of the reason he’s staying. Scott and Stiles head upstairs first, saying their goodnights to both Scott’s mom and dad.

Stiles waits on the bed while Scott gets changed in the bathroom, the door left slightly ajar. There’s the clicking of a door closing down the hall. He drops back with a sigh, arms spread above him. 

“What’s up?” Scott asks him, peeking out the gap, only his chest visible. 

“Just thinking,” Stiles says.

“About?” Scott prompts.

Stiles shakes his head for a moment, making a face at the ceiling. Honestly, he’s not sure what he’s even thinking. There’s this feeling in the pit of his stomach that he can’t put his finger on, but it’s faintly nauseating. Like something bad’s going to happen, except he doesn’t know what it is. He never knows what it is, in all fairness.

“The storm,” Stiles says, deciding it must be that. Or at least one cause of it. 

“Are you worrying it might mean that something’s coming?” Scott asks understandingly.

“Doesn’t it always?” Stiles turns his head to look at him, meeting his eyes. “I mean, things have been weirdly quiet for a few weeks now. I know it hasn’t been that long, but… I don’t know. I just wish that there had been some way to save everyone without reactivating the nemeton. We made things so much worse.”

“We did what we had to do,” Scott counters gently. So confident in what he’s saying. “We saved our parents, and probably a lot more people that Jennifer would have killed had we not stopped her. It was the only option we had at the time.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t this worry you, too?” Stiles asks, his brow furrowing. “I mean, first we let out an ancient Japanese fox spirit. What could possibly be next? We don’t know even a quarter of the things out there that we could have drawn to Beacon Hills.”

Scott shakes his head, finally slipping his shirt off. “No, we don’t. But we’ll deal with whatever we have to. We always find a way, no matter what it is. And this storm might not mean anything.”

“And if it does?” Stiles looks at him questioningly. “If it’s something even worse than what we’ve already had to deal with?”

“Then we find a way for that too,” Scott says. “I’m worried, Stiles, but right now… I don’t want to be worried right now. I just want to enjoy what we have right now. And if this storm is the start of something else, which I doubt it is, then…” He shakes his head, his hands fiddling with his shirt, “...we figure it out.”

Stiles just watches him for a moment. Watches him look down at the shirt in his hands, saying nothing, his chest shifting with the deep inhale and quiet sigh. The worry is still there, twisting around inside of Stiles, and he can see it in Scott as well for that moment. But it doesn’t feel as suffocating or crushing as it did before he said anything.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says softly. “We always figure it out. Together.”

Scott lifts his eyes to him. His mouth curves into a small smile that Stiles wants to see there always, hates the idea of it breaking. Because everything in their lives is too delicate right now, teetering on the brink of either smashing to pieces or… Stiles doesn’t even know what else. They’re just stuck in this strange limbo of wondering what comes next? 

But he smiles back at Scott, and takes a deep breath when he turns his back to put his shirt in the laundry basket. Everything’s okay. Not amazing, not terrible. It’s good. And good is what he wants right now, he needs things to just be good, and stay like that for just a little bit longer.

“Okay.” Scott reappears from the bathroom, now shirtless and wearing sweatpants. Werewolves run fairly warm, even in winter, they’ve discovered. He grins. “Are we still doing the fort? I know we have no power to play any video games or watch anything, but…”

Stiles contemplates it, humming as he taps a finger against his lips. For a second, he swears that Scott’s gaze flickers in some way, he’s not quick enough to catch it. He brushes it off.

“Fort, definitely.”

They hurry about it, gathering blankets, a chair, and figuring out a way to balance Scott’s lacrosse stick to keep the sheet up at the other side. In the end (ten minutes later, their fastest ford building time yet), they’ve figured it out and hidden themselves away inside of the newly made fort. 

It is surprisingly more comforting than Stiles was expecting, just lying in Scott’s bed with a blanket over them and the fort around them. It doesn’t block out the noises of the storm, but the flashes of lightning aren’t as anxiety-inducing. He’s able to just roll onto his side, facing Scott, who’s staring up at the blanket above them.

“Hey,” Stiles says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He reaches over when Scott just hums in response. He places his hand on top of Scott’s, resting on his chest. “It’s gonna be okay.”

A beat passes. Scott inhales slowly. Then he turns his head on the pillow and meets Stiles’ gaze. The smile he gives him makes Stiles’ heart slow, everything in him following suit.

“I know,” Scott says.

They stay up a little while longer, joking, just generally talking the night away like they tend to during their many sleepovers. Either that, or instantly fall asleep while watching something or playing some game. Stiles doesn’t pull his hand back once, and Scott laces their fingers together while still talking. And Stiles is proud of himself for his plan, excited even, because they are going to be so good at this, pretending to be in a relationship. The next few weeks will be a breeze, as long as everything goes to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, we just love when uninvited family members decide to drop in and assume you'll welcome them to stay with open arms. How well can this actually go, do you guys think? Any predictions? Let me know! <3


	3. Chapter 3

Waking up to the house in relative silence is pretty normal to Scott. He shifts slightly, moving to stretch an arm. There’s some light resistance. Forcing an eye open, he looks to the side. Stiles is sprawled out next to him, his head nearly on Scott’s shoulder with his arm loosely hooked around his. He isn’t too surprised to realize their legs are the same way. It happens a lot when they share a bed.

Smiling to himself, Scott closes his eyes and only moves the tiniest bit to get comfortable again. Stiles makes a quiet noise in his sleep in response that fades off into a soft snore before he buries his face further into the pillow and also Scott’s arm.

The storm’s at least passed, it seems. There’s no thunder or lightning. Something that’s easier rain or snow is falling outside, but that’s nothing worrying. A weight eases from Scott’s chest, and he breathes out, able to really relax again. If nothing has happened in the last few hours then there’s a good chance that the storm was just—

_ Should I stay or should I go _ starts belting throughout the room. Loudly. Scott’s eyes fly back open while Stiles groans. 

“Is someone calling you?” Scott asks, the weight immediately dropping back into his stomach.

“No.” Stiles detaches himself from Scott and rolls over, his hand grasping under the pillows. “I left my alarm on. I keep forgetting to turn it off.”

And the weight is lifted. Scott groans as well now, letting his eyes shut again. 

“What time is it?” he asks.

“Uh.” Stiles manages to find his phone, finally swiping the alarm off, to Scott’s heightened hearing’s relief. “Don’t kill me. But it’s six-thirty.”

Scott groans again and rolls over, hiding his face in his pillows. “It’s the holidays. This is one of the only days we don’t need to be up early. I am not getting up at six-thirty.”

“No one said we had to,” Stiles counters. “No one needs to know that we’re awake yet.”

A smile tugs at Scott’s mouth, and he’s a little thankful that his face is still hidden from view. "I like that plan. Do you think we could make it stretch for the whole day?"

Stiles snorts. "Ah, there's that Scott McCall festive positivity and all-around joy for the approaching holidays."

They both know that the holidays have never been that important to Scott. The only reason he cares about them is because it means getting to spend more time with his mom, and with Stiles and his dad. With everything that's happened in their lives, even growing up, it was more about cherishing them than being excited about decorations or snow or the actual holidays themselves. But with his mom probably working, his dad sticking around, and the possibility of some new big bad threat showing up to ruin everything for them, Scott just isn't feeling much need for positivity right now. 

"Hey."

He rolls onto his side at Stiles' insistence, gently poking his hip until he's facing him. Stiles has propped himself up on an elbow, his head resting in the palm of his hand. A short beat passes before Stiles speaks again, but it feels like ten only because Scott's eyes have unblurred enough to look at him in a more awake state. And he's silently wondering how is it that he never noticed the way Stiles smiles at him when they've just woken up? He does it all the time whenever one of them sleeps over at the other's house, the same soft smile that curves up more at one side (the left side). Or the way his hair is a mess and sticking up in all directions? Or even taken a second to acknowledge the feeling of Stiles' fingers tracing his skin, like they're doing along the bands of his tattoo right now?

"We could always sneak out the window if you're not feeling up to seeing your dad," Stiles suggests, a joking tone laying beneath the sleepy roughness of his voice. 

"I'm pretty sure we'd slip and break our necks," Scott says, a grin working its way onto his face. 

Stiles scoffs as if insulted. "Please, I've been climbing your roof nearly my entire life."

"You fell off of it two weeks ago."

Scott chuckles in Stiles' moment of hesitation. 

"Although," Scott continues, putting on a thoughtful look, deciding to play into it. It's early, he's still kinda half-asleep, and he likes the spark that glows in Stiles' eyes when he indulges him. "I guess we could probably survive the jump. I'm pretty sure it's snowing, so less impact on the landing, and I could make sure neither of us broke or twisted anything anyway."

"See? Nothing to worry about," Stiles jokes. He's still blinking like he wants to fall back asleep, his eyes half-lidded. How did Scott never notice just how cute he like this? 

Wait. No. His mind comes to a halt, then backtracks completely. Stiles is cute, obviously, Scott has always been aware of that. He has eyes. Growing up, he knew Stiles had pretty eyes and moles and adorable chubby cheeks that grew into a jawline that Scott sometimes traces in his mind when he's zoning out. He's always known that Stiles was attractive. It's just the first time he's noticed and gotten this feeling in his chest. The fluttering, like an itch beneath his skin that he can't reach. The feeling of never wanting to stop looking at him. 

A shiver runs up his arm from Stiles' fingers, just resting on his skin without really moving anymore. He forces out a laugh, pulling him back to reality before Stiles can notice a blankness in his eyes or anything strange. Lying to Stiles is near impossible. Lying to Stiles about having feelings for someone is even harder. He knows all of his tells, knows the signs, and then Scott would blurt it out. 

_Is that what's happening right now_? he asks himself, startled. Does he really have feelings for Stiles? 

His stomach lurches and his heart's moving much faster than he's comfortable with. So that's that answered then, he thinks.

There's a knock at the door before Scott can say anything. Much too loud to be his mom.

“Scott?” his dad calls out.

The weightless feeling leaves Scott, plummeting from the cloud he had been happily sitting on and crashing into the ground. He had forgotten his dad was actually here.

He watches the smile fall from Stiles' face and the way the light dulls in his eyes. It makes him want to ignore the second knock. But he knows that his dad isn't going to leave. Because of him.  Stiles lets himself drop back down, rolling his face into the pillow. 

Begrudgingly, Scott answers his dad. "Yeah, we're up. We'll be out in a minute."

There's a pause, hesitation, and Scott can hear his dad's heartbeat still hovering outside the door. Feel the slight shift in the air, so subtle it nearly goes unnoticed. He knows that his dad heard the word "we" and isn't sure about just leaving with the door still closed. But Scott doesn't say anything else and he's definitely not getting up just to open the door. After a beat of silence, his dad responds.

"Okay, well, uh... there's breakfast if you're hungry."

Then he walks away, leaving them alone once more. When his heartbeat's finally back downstairs, Scott breathes out a sigh. He looks at Stiles as Stiles lifts his eyes back to him, his face still half-hidden in the pillow. There's a small, downturned smile on his lips.

"Guess our plan's out the window then," he jokes, but it doesn't have the same tone to it. Just resigned. 

Scott mirrors his expression. "Beginning to regret telling him to stay."

Stiles' eyebrows raise a little in curious confusion. "Really?"

"I wanted to give him a chance," Scott says quietly, shaking his head. "But I just... also wish I could do that without him being here, you know?"

He doesn't need to say everything. How, with his dad here, Scott knows he's never going to be able to really relax. Even if he takes his coming out well, Scott can't ever fully feel comfortable around him. There's always going to be a small part of him that desires an escape, that won't be able to breathe right until he's away from him. It's just easier to forgive him and get along with him when he's five-hundred miles away.

"I know," Stiles says softly, reaching back out, his fingers brushing over his arm. "It's only until after New Year, though, right? It's only about a week."

"Yeah, it's not too bad," Scott agrees.

"And that just means we get to be fake boyfriends for a whole week," Stiles points out, a spark of mischief returning to his eyes.

Scott hums, his smile growing. "True. That does make it a little more worth it."

"Good, because I plan on bringing my absolute A game for the next week. I'm going to be the best fake boyfriend you're ever going to have."

Amused, Scott asks, "Does that means I'm going to have more fake boyfriends in the future?"

"Not if I have anything to do with it." Stiles winks.

They both burst into laughter. As reluctant as they both are to do so, they then get up. They have to half-crawl out from their makeshift fort, and Scott admittedly laughs again when Stiles fails and ends up on the floor with a limb twisted in a blanket. He helps free him before searching for his phone. He finds it at the bottom of the bed under the blanket.

One text from his mom and two from Lydia. He checks over his mom’s first and finds it’s just to let him know she had to head out early for her first shift, and asking him to let her know if his dad’s still gonna be around at dinner again tonight. He moves on to Lydia’s.

“Do you wanna meet up with everyone at twelve, at Ruby’s?” Scott asks, glancing over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles says, shrugging as he looks around the room for a shirt he can either reclaim from a time he left it or steal from Scott. “That gives us a good chance to go over the plan with them as well.”

“Hey, what if they don’t think it’s a good idea?” Scott asks, the thought only just crossing his mind. “I mean, what if they don’t agree to it?”

Stiles falters. It’s pretty obvious by the look of hesitation and just stumped expression in general that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind either, or even considered it a possibility. 

“Huh. Then… we will convince them,” he decides. “We’ll make it work, don’t worry. Nothing is going to go wrong. This plan is going to be a success, okay?”

“When have any of our plans ever been a success?” Scott asks with a slight grin.

“Never, but this one will be, because I say it will be,” Stiles insists. He waves a shirt at him. “Do not worry about this or jinx it in anyway. This is going to work. Okay?”

Scott laughs, nodding. “Yeah, okay.” He then points at Stiles. “Not that shirt, it needs to be in the washing. There’s one in the top drawer, the Pink Floyd one.”

Stiles happily tosses the dirty shirt at Scott. He quickly locates the washed-out grey, fading Pink Floyd T-shirt and swaps out the one he borrowed last night. 

“Do you think my pants will be dry by now?” Stiles asks.

“No power all last night,” Scott reminds him.

Stiles curses and sighs. Scott just points at the third drawer with a smile, pulling on a fresh shirt of his own as Stiles goes searching for a pair of pants to borrow. The only downside of no longer planning out sleepovers and bringing bags of their stuff to each other’s houses. Although, Scott swears that half of his clothes are actually just ones Stiles has left behind.

They leave Scott’s room when they’re finally dressed and have both replied to Lydia, as Stiles discovers a message from her and Malia asking about the same plans for later when he actually checks his notifications.

As soon as they reach the bottom of the stairs, Scott’s dad appears from around the corner, startling them. If he notices, he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Hey, you’re up,” he says, mostly at Scott. He’s not totally oblivious, he can tell that his dad’s method of being polite to Stiles is by avoiding as much interaction with him as possible. “Are you hungry? Either of you?”

He throws Stiles a civil glance, the last part clearly tacked on with some hesitation. 

“I have to head home,” Stiles says, pointing to the front door as he moves towards it. “Make sure my dad hasn’t let the menorah burn the house down. It’s a very common thing this time of year, and I would love to not become part of that high statistic. So, thanks for the offer, but…”

“No problem,” Scott’s dad says, waving him away. “It was… nice having you here.”

“It was my pleasure,” Stiles says, giving him a curt nod and a tight smile. Then the corner of his lips twitches up a little more as he turns to Scott. “As being here usually is anyway.”

Scott bites the inside of his cheek, barely stopping himself from outright grinning. A small part of him is tempted to step forward, kiss Stiles, right there, see what happens. But there’s a clenching in his stomach and his dad’s eyes are on him. And he doesn’t really know how Stiles would react anyway since they’ve agreed to wait a few days.

“Mine too,” Scott says, feeling his cheeks heat. He steps forward, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and bringing him into a half-hug. More quietly, he adds, “Real subtle, dude.”

“Gotta make it convincing,” Stiles jokes under his breath.

Scott shakes his head and pulls back from him, one of Stiles’ hands lingering on his shoulder for a moment. 

“Remember—” he starts, but Stiles interrupts, holding his hands up.

“I know,” he assures him. “Ruby’s at twelve. I’ll see you there, Scotty.”

“Tell your dad I said hi,” Scott says, smiling as Stiles opens the front door. 

Stiles nods, and then gives a wave. The second that the door closes, Scott gets a churning of dread. He turns back to face his dad. It seems as if he was awkwardly trying to pretend he didn’t exist throughout their whole goodbye, his eyes shifting around the hallway.

Now, however, he looks over at Scott. “So,” he starts, only to falter, apparently having no clear idea of where he’s going with this. 

Deciding to give him a little mercy, Scott takes a breath, then says, “Uh, so, breakfast?”

His dad’s face lights up at the save. He chuckles, visibly relaxing, and nods. “Yeah, I figured that you might be hungry when you woke up, and you and your mom were nice enough to let me stay the night, so I whipped up some food. It’s not much, but…”

Scott tries for a small smile. “I’m sure it’s not that bad. Come on.”

  
  


***

“Yo, daddy?” Stiles calls out as he walks in the front door, swinging his keys from his index finger. He closes the door behind him and waits for a response. Nothing comes. 

He sighs, but really, he’s not surprised. It is the holidays after all, and the Sheriff of a town like theirs tends to be busy this time of year. More so than usual, which is in no way a comfort to Stiles’ already through-the-roof anxiety about the dangers they’re thrown into every day. 

Shrugging off his jacket, Stiles shoves his keys back into his pocket and kicks off his shoes. He moves into the living room and stops in the doorway. His dad’s asleep on the couch, surrounded by boxes. Many of which says, “Do not remove from Sheriff’s Station.” Upon closer inspection, he also finds many of the files scattered on the coffee table, open at different pages, and printed-out photographs from evidence. 

A knot in his stomach reforms and pulls tight around his organs. Seeing his dad so exhausted and desperate to do something to save his job is… worrying, to say the least. 

He pushes aside the curtains. The candles on the menorah are burnt out, or maybe blown out. Stiles glances up and finds the window open. He closes it over, then goes to move away. He hesitates, staring at the menorah and the seven charred wicks. Guilt stirs in that ever-expanding pit in his stomach.

Stiles swallows. He turns away and goes about tidying up the living room to the best of his abilities without messing up too much of what he’s sure is his dad’s organization system. He follows the sticky note piles accordingly. 

Then he moves into the kitchen and sets about making something to eat, which turns into a bowl of cereal when he figures he can’t be bothered actually making anything. He’s just scrolling on his phone with one hand and spooning cereal into his mouth with the other without looking when his dad walks into the room. 

“Didn’t realize you’d be home so soon,” he says to him with a lopsided grin.

He takes a seat across from Stiles, who shrugs, straightening up. 

“Well, I wanted to be here before you went to work, since I know you aren’t allowed the next few days off,” Stiles says.

His dad raises an eyebrow. “I don’t buy that for a second but if it makes you feel better, I’m getting Christmas Eve and Christmas off. Hopefully. Something may come up on the day, but eh, I doubt it.”

Stiles does not doubt it. He severely does not doubt it, and in fact is expecting for something to come up, because it always does. It’s Beacon Hills. But he doesn’t say anything and just plays along. 

“Oh! Well, that’s great then.” He then makes a face. “But you are kinda right, I was also avoiding an awkward breakfast with Scott’s dad. I feel kind of bad for leaving Scott to deal with him, but I couldn’t exactly just smuggle him out of his own house at seven in the morning.”

His dad gives him a look. It’s the same one he usually gets when there’s any mention of Scott’s dad. Of course, he always refrains from saying what he really wants to. He just frowns instead.

“Wait, Scott’s dad’s back in town?” he questions. 

“Unfortunately,” Stiles confirms, stabbing his cereal with his spoon. “He sprung dinner on Scott yesterday, so I went over as moral support. Then the storm happened, roads were flooded, and he had to spend the night on the couch.”

The displeased, hardened look in his dad’s eyes only grows. “He stayed over? Was—was Scott okay with that? Was Melissa?”

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know.” At his dad’s prompting look, Stiles blows out a sigh and sets down his spoon and his phone. “Look, Scott’s saying that he’s fine with his dad being in town, even though he’s going to be staying until after New Year, but—”

“He’s staying until after when?” his dad butts in, eyes blazing.

“New Year; he apparently wants to spend the holidays with Scott,” Stiles quickly says, and waves a hand. “Can I please continue? Yes? Okay, thank you. So, yeah, he’s staying for the holidays, Scott’s saying that’s fine, but he also doesn’t seem… happy about it. Mildly optimistic to a point where I’m starting to worry he’s going to be disappointed? Definitely, that’s expected for Scott.”

His dad gives him a beat, then deems it safe to ask, “And Melissa? Is she… okay with him being back in town, especially for that long?”

“That I don’t know,” Stiles admits, leaning back in his chair. “I can’t really get a good read of what she’s feeling. Other than her very obvious exclamations of loathing whenever he says pretty much anything to her. So, if I had to guess based on last night, no, I don’t think she’s at all okay with it and would probably pay you to arrest him to keep him out of her sight if she didn’t think that Scott wanted him around.”

His dad sighs, scratching his chin. “Don’t tempt me. I’d happily do it for free.”

Stiles snorts. He knows he's not kidding either. Ever since the first time that Melissa called him up late at night, crying, because Scott's dad had cheated on her, it's safe to say that he hasn't been particularly fond of him. And the many times it happened after didn't do much to rectify that. 

“Well, try and refrain from arresting him or, you know, anything more extreme,” Stiles says, picking his spoon back up. “The tension over there is already awkward enough, and it’s only going to get worse real soon, so.”

“How’s that?”

Stiles remembers that he hasn’t yet divulged the plan to his dad. “Oh, uh, Scott plans on coming out to him. I offered to help—pretend to be in a relationship with him, make it more believable since his dad already knows about me. Otherwise, he probably won’t believe him, which is ridiculous and I despise him, but if it works, then hey.”

“And… you think that’s a good idea?” If his dad is trying to hide the scepticism and doubt in his voice, he is not doing a good job of it. “You know, you getting involved?”

Stiles frowns, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Why wouldn’t it be? There’s an eighty percent chance that his dad is going to be a completely homophobic dick about Scott being gay either way, but we both figured that he’ll at least have to believe him this way. I mean, we both know why he hated me and Scott being so close when we were younger.”

“Yeah, you were not the most subtle kid,” his dad laughs with fondness. It fades into concern a moment later as he shakes his head. “I don’t know, I just… I know Rafael. Better than I want to. And yeah, you’re right, he didn’t like that you were Scott’s only friend because, well, this is exactly what he feared would come out of it. You two. Together.”

“Exactly,” Stiles says, nodding, more convinced than ever that he’s right about this plan. “That’s why he at least won’t be able to call Scott’s bluff or anything like that. Because he always thought there was a chance of something happening between us, so us being together now wouldn’t be unbelievable. And therefore, he’ll accept that Scott is gay. Or at least, he’ll believe him.”

“But aren’t you a little worried that this lie is only gonna cause more problems than necessary?” his dad asks, his concern deepening. “I mean, I don’t know what Rafael thinks like now, but maybe he’d be more open-minded towards Scott being gay now than he was back then. I doubt it, but there’s a chance. But you are literally the last boy on earth that he would want Scott to be dating, and I’m just worried that that’s going to get rid of any already slim chance of him being okay with Scott’s sexuality at all.”

Stiles thinks he knows what he’s on about. He doesn’t like it, but he understands what he’s saying. He chews his bottom lip, the pride at coming up with a smart plan falling away.

“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” he admits.

“Then maybe give it some thought now,” his dad says gently. “But, either way, I’m glad you’re with Scott to help him through this. I don’t think your idea is the worst, it could actually work, I just… I want you to be careful. And make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Stiles frowns, lifting his eyes to his dad in confusion as he asks, “What does that mean?”

His dad has this look on his face, like he knows something that he doesn’t want to share with Stiles. It’s a surprisingly common look for him to have, and one that Stiles has come to loathe, because then he knows there’s something he  _ should _ know but doesn’t. 

It’s the way his dad falters that sets off a little alarm in Stiles’ head. His eyes widen in disbelief, then narrow as he scoffs, then groans, and finally rolls his eyes, slumping back in his chair.

“Oh my go—you don’t seriously think that I still have feelings for Scott, do you?” he says, a tad accusingly. 

His dad’s continued faltering and pointed raise of an eyebrow answers him. 

“Dad! We’ve been over this, it was a crush! A very temporary, very fleeting crush on my best friend from when I was figuring out that I wasn’t straight! It happens, but I got over those feelings, remember?”

“Uh-huh,” his dad says, getting up from his chair and leaving the table. Stiles catches a glimpse of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m being serious!” Stiles protests, whipping around in his chair. “Dad! Hey—All of my feelings for Scott are purely platonic now! It’s not like I’m in love with him!”

“I never said I didn’t believe you, Stiles,” his dad calls back without looking, disappearing into the living room.

Stiles opens his mouth to continue arguing and insist until his dad believes him. But his dad’s already gone, and he’s realizing that there is such a thing as bordering on the defensive. That would certainly make him sound like he’s lying.

Slumping in his chair, he goes back to his cereal and his phone. And in the back of his mind, he wonders if his dad is right. Maybe this plan is a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it would seem that the Sheriff isn't so optimistic about this plan of theirs. What do you think? Do you guys agree with him or do you think it'll go well? Hope you enjoy!! <3


	4. Chapter 4

The whole town is decked out in lights and decorations for Christmas, reindeers galloping above their heads from one side of the street to the next, giant jolly Saint Nick’s waving from street corners, rows upon rows of beaded lights like a net over the square. It may be a little annoying that it’s solely Christmas-themed, but it’s hard for Scott to find much annoyance in him when he takes it in while waiting for his friends. And especially when the whole square is blanketed in thick snow. 

He looks up at the sky, squinting slightly as flakes melt on his eyelashes. How the storm and flood of last night turned into this blizzard of snow, he has no idea. He would have been sure that the roads and ground were far too wet for any snow to actually land, but apparently, sometimes the weird impossibility of Beacon Hills likes to do something nice for them for a change.

Scott glances around the square, then at his phone. He’s admittedly a little early. But he had to get out of the house. Breakfast with his dad was… not horrible, but neither of them really talked much, and then his dad said he might as well stay a little longer to clean up all of the candles from last night, and do the dishes, and really just anything that let him stay in the house longer. It wasn’t exactly the best start to the day. Although, he supposes that his day actually started in his bed, waking up next to Stiles.

A smile curves his freezing lips as he tucks his hands back underneath his arms to try and fight off the cold. Just thinking back on his conversation with Stiles this morning makes his heart jump, as stupid and cheesy as it sounds and feels. 

Flirting is normal for them, it comes easily when they’re together, but it’s always been harmless. He had never considered it being more than just friendly. Even this morning felt different, though. And now, all he can think about is what if it went beyond that? It really wouldn’t take much considering everything.

But there’s a good chance Stiles is just being Stiles. A really good friend, helping him out. Taking it a step further would be a risk, and would totally have a chance of jeopardizing the plan, and their friendship. Then again, they’ve come back from worse. Even if Stiles was just joking around, it wouldn’t have to change anything. 

But the thought of it changing something in a good way… a way that makes Scott’s stomach and chest flutter… it would be worth at least knowing how Stiles is feeling. Otherwise, he’ll be left with not knowing. That seems more daunting than the possibility of it all just being part of the plan to convince his dad.

An arm is thrown around Scott’s shoulders, startling him. He laughs it off, the familiar scent hitting him over the snow immediately. 

“Ugh, it feels like it’s been days since I saw you,” Stiles jokingly complains. “I swear to never abandon you again. You know, I’d break up with me right now if I were you. But also don’t do that, I will be heartbroken, and can you really break my heart so close to Christmas?”

“Stiles, you’re Jewish,” Lydia says flatly, appearing beside him. 

Stiles raises an eyebrow back at her. “And? What, that means that being dumped, by my best friend and soulmate, so close to such a sentimental, family and love-based holiday wouldn’t emotionally scar me for every year to come? And we’re near the end of Hanukkah, so that would be ruined for me! Maybe even New Year, Lydia. Then I would have to stick to celebrating it only once, and just the thought of snow—I couldn’t handle it.”

“You don’t… that doesn’t—Nope, I’m out,” Lydia says, crossing her arms and conceding.

Scott laughs, but he glances from Lydia to Stiles. “Wait, do you know? Did you already tell her?”

“I do, and he did,” Lydia answers before Stiles can butt back in. “My mom dropped me off on her way to go last-minute Christmas shopping, and Stiles saw me heading over here. He hasn’t stopped talking about your plan to come out to your dad once, and frankly, I’m already tired of your relationship and I haven’t even had to lie yet.”

“Does that mean you’re okay with it?” Scott asks, perking up. 

Lydia shrugs. “I don’t know your dad that well, so I don’t care about lying to him.”

“Yeah, but it’s going to be pretty difficult,” Stiles tells her. “Making sure you get the details right and pretending that you’re used to us being together, you know?”

It’s Lydia’s turn to raise an eyebrow at him. Her lips twitch up and she scoffs. 

“Please. Difficult? This is going to be a breeze,” she says, much to Stiles’ confusion and Scott’s amusement. “You two have practically been together since you were four. Anything I say will basically be the truth.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. I was expecting a little more resistance on this, admittedly, but I’ll take your willing cooperation,” Stiles says, evidently unable to argue further and not too thrilled about it. “Mainly because I’m thinking the others may have a harder time lying.”

“Speaking of,” Scott nudges Stiles, “did you tell your dad? Is he okay with it?”

Stiles’ face drops. He shifts uncomfortably, looking away as he inhales, and says, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I told him.”

Scott and Lydia glance at each other, then give Stiles the same confused, prompting look. 

“And…?” Lydia asks, shaking her head.

Stiles meets both of their eyes for a split second, then sighs. “He doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

Scott frowns, his heart sinking a little. “Why?”

“Because…” Stiles hesitates, mouth open. He shakes his head and sighs. “He thinks it could backfire, I guess. Said that letting your dad think that you’re dating me could make him less likely to accept you being gay because of how much he hates me and hated the idea of us ending up together when we were kids.”

“Hmm.” They both look at Lydia and her thoughtful expression. “He’s got a point. Maybe if you said you were dating someone else, but if he really dislikes Stiles—”

“Hates,” Stiles corrects, nodding. “The word you are looking for is _hates_. Deeply, passionately, and intensely.”

“My point is,” Lydia continues through gritted teeth, throwing Stiles an exasperated glare, “Stiles’ dad is probably right. Scott, your dad’s bias towards Stiles, and how close you two are will more than likely sway how he takes your coming out if you plan to do it like this. Are you sure you’ve thought that through?”

In truth, absolutely not is the answer. Scott didn’t really think much of it through when Stiles suggested it, to be fair. He made it sound so easy and flawless that he didn’t stop to really question it too much. 

Lydia, and Stiles’ dad, both have a good point. But at the same time, Scott does understand what he was agreeing to. He wanted his dad to believe him.

“Scotty?” Stiles says, eyebrows raised. He places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Hey, look, if you don’t wanna do this anymore, that’s totally fine. I don’t wanna do anything that’s going to make this worse. Whatever you want to do…”

Scott shakes his head. “No, I want to do this,” he says, and is firm in his decision. “And I already figured that saying we were dating in order to come out to him would affect how he’d take it. That was the whole point, remember?”

“Yeah, but, Scott—” Stiles starts to gently argue.

“If my dad could only handle me being gay solely based on who I’m dating, then... “ Scott shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowing, “...then I don’t want him in my life. He doesn’t get to choose to accept me one minute and then change his mind when I start dating someone he doesn’t like. That’s now how this works.”

Stiles is giving him this look. “Yeah, I get that. But, you know he would only react like that to me. If it were anyone else, there’s a good chance he wouldn’t care.”

“But I care,” Scott says, holding his confused gaze. “Maybe he would only react badly to me dating you, but that’s not okay with me. If he couldn’t accept the idea of me being with you and couldn’t even try to be happy for me, then I can’t accept him back into my life.”

“Scott, I really don’t want you to hinge your decision on whether or not your dad miraculously starts liking me,” Stiles tells him seriously with a hint of alarm in his voice. “He’s civil with me right now, that’s enough!”

Lydia glances at Scott. He sees her do it, and he sees the look in her eyes when she does. It’s subtle and well-concealed, but he still catches the knowing in her worried gaze, the silent understanding and concern. He swallows, shifting slightly, but she’s already looked away. 

Taking a deep breath, Scott shakes his head again and looks Stiles deeply in the eyes as he says, “Not for me it isn’t. I still want to do this. But if you don’t, then that’s okay.”

Stiles sputters in disbelief as if he’s found himself in some upside-down world. 

“No, of course I’m still doing it! I just—Scott. Please, think about this. At least don’t decide until the end of the day, all right? Or better yet, tomorrow!”

“Ah, yes,” Lydia nods, pressing her lips together, “leave the big decision that could potentially blow up until Christmas Eve. Perfect idea, Stiles, as always.”

“You know, I do not appreciate your sarcasm right now,” Stiles retorts, poking a finger at her and receiving a sarcastic smile in return. 

“Fine,” Scott says before either of them can interject over each other. “I’ll think about it, if that’ll make you happy. Now, can we actually go inside?”

Lydia groans, quickly saying, “God, yes, please.” She rubs her gloved hands over her arms, brushing some of the snow off at the same time and hugging herself a little tighter. “I feel like a Christmas decoration.”

“Yeah, despite popular belief, werewolves aren’t actually walking radiators.”

“I beg to differ, you were like a freaking electric blanket last night,” Stiles says. “But yeah, okay, let’s go, I am absolutely freezing. I feel like Rudolph.”

Scott smiles and Lydia tilts her head, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“You look like Rudolph,” she muses. “All you need are some antlers, which, I’m sure we could find, I mean, how hard cou—”

“Walk, go, inside.”

They finally walk into Ruby’s diner. It’s become their go-to hang out, especially when they want to discuss something that doesn’t necessarily require the privacy of Derek’s loft or Scott’s house. It’s just easier to meet up somewhere in the middle of town. Plus, Ruby and her grandmother are happy to let them sit in for as long as they want. 

And it’s one of the only places that isn’t overly decked out in the most traditional Christmas decorations. There’s white and blue tinsel strewn across the counter, and some fairy lights that only glow a soft orange weaved over and around the booths. Other than that, it just retains its all-year-round welcoming, cozy feel. 

Ruby looks up at the door opening and already has a smile on her face when it closes again behind them. A blast of warmth hits the three of them instantly, the cold left outside with the blizzard of snow. Lydia breathes out in relief. 

“Fifth booth in the right corner,” she tells them knowingly, motioning her head to the booth over her shoulder. 

Scott glances over at where she motioned to and finds the booth nearly completely occupied already by the rest of their friends. Lydia frowns.

“I told them twelve-fifteen,” she says, clearly annoyed to not be the most punctual one for once, no matter how much she tries to conceal it. 

“Well, it is currently twelve-twenty-two, so,” Stiles replies, pointing to the clock on the wall.

“This is because of your incessant talking about nonsense on the way here, and outside,” Lydia accuses with a pointed finger. Then she whips back around and stalks off to join everyone else in the back corner of the room. 

Stiles throws his hands up and turns to Scott with a look of exasperation, that is silently saying, _Seriously? Can you believe her?_

Scott just laughs it off, patting Stiles on the arm, before walking off after Lydia, leaving Stiles to make a noise of greater disbelief before huffing and following as well. 

They both slide into the empty spaces in the booth across from each other. 

“So,” Malia says, catching them by surprise with her abruptness, leaning forward and crossing her arms on the table with a serious look on her face, “what’s happened?”

Scott’s eyebrows furrow and he definitely isn’t the only confused one at the table. 

“N—nothing,” Lydia says, taken aback. “Why do you assume something happened?”

Malia gives her a strange look. “Because you texted the group chat asking to meet here at a specific time, without any further details. Usually, when you do that, something bad has happened. Hasn’t it?”

“Not always!” Lydia protests as the rest of them try to hide their amusement and conceal quiet snickers as she goes on the defensive. “I meant to just hang out! You know, like we’ve done before, and like what normal friends do, especially during the holidays?”

“So, you’re telling me that I could have still been in bed right now? I’m not actually needed here at all?” Malia has a certain gleam in her eyes that reminds Scott of the first time he faced off with her. When she was a coyote. And slightly murderous. 

“You—” Lydia starts, but is cut off by Stiles jumping in, seemingly also sensing her rising irritation. The holidays are not a good time for Lydia’s patience or general ability to stay calm under even mild stress. Scott is learning that quite quickly. 

“No!” Stiles quickly says, as Lydia clenches her jaw and leans back in the booth to seethe silently. “No, that’s—that’s not true. See, we do actually need you. Because, although this wasn’t originally the reason for us meeting here, there is an important matter that needs to be discussed with all of you. That, Scott and I need to discuss with you.”

Scott arches an eyebrow at him. He gives a little tilt of his head but Stiles just shrugs off his confusion in a way that makes Scott think he’s just winging this to avoid a Banshee Vs Werecoyote insurance issue with Ruby and her grandmother. Because he definitely seemed set on Scott not making any final decisions, yet here he is, making the decision to go through with it.

“All right, it’s starting to sound like you’re going to try and rope us into some weird pyramid scheme thing,” Isaac says, suspicion in his narrowed eyes. He waves a hand around the booth. “Is that what’s happening here? Are you trying to scam us?”

Stiles just stares right back at him with a similar expression. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he draws out a slow breath through his nose.

“No, and if I was going to scam anyone into a pyramid scheme, frankly, I would choose someone with a more appealing everything so that I would actually have a chance at making it at least semi-successful,” Stiles quips without a change in tone. “Can you now be quiet and let me actually say what I was going to say? Yes? Good, thank you, you scarf-obsessed, bane of my existence.”

“You know, it would be so easy to kill you.”

“Yeah, and I carry wolfsbane and mistletoe on me at all times.”

“You don’t, I’d smell it on you.”

“Oh yeah, you willing to take that risk?”

“Ha. It’s hilarious that you consider yourself a risk to me—or to anyone. I heal, you don’t.”

“I’d like to see you heal from—”

“Hey, woah!” Scott’s eyes are wide as he interjects, literally holding a hand out on the off-chance that one of them really does try to swing. 

Clearly tensions are high this time of year. There isn’t even a full moon for another five days. 

“Let’s just…” Scott trails off as Stiles and Isaac make no further attempts to metaphorically bite each other’s heads off. He gives a nervous chuckle as they continue to glare at each other, though. “Okay. Um. So, yeah, as Stiles was saying… there’s something that I need to ask of you guys. A small favour.”

Scott catches the sound of rustling fabric. The rough pads of fingers scraping against wood. He throws Stiles a glance, then down to the hand in his lap, where he’s fiddling with the dreidel he just pulled from his pocket. 

A small frown threatens to tug at Scott’s face, his worry expanding in that pit in his stomach. It’s not just annoyance surrounding the booth, but anxiety. Clearly the idea of this backfiring is still bothering him. And Scott’s going to keep his word and still think it over, but right now, he needs to at least prepare them.

“How small?” Malia asks with that lingering suspicion in her voice, now leaned back and practically mirroring Lydia. 

“What do you need us to do?” Allison asks instead, with a gentler tone and smile to match. Things have gotten better between them over the last couple of months, thankfully. “We’ll help.”

“Yeah, whatever it is,” Kira chimes in, straightening up, a light shining in her eyes. Determined to help. 

Scott’s aware there’s some lingering guilt about her mom having a part to play in the Nogitsune and the Oni, and Allison and Stiles nearly dying. No matter how many times they’ve talked about it, it never seems to fully assure her that no one blames her for it. 

“Personally, I’d like to wait and hear what exactly it is first before agreeing to that,” Isaac says, raising a hand halfway, and earning a grunt of agreement from Malia. 

“Guys, come on.” Liam chuckles, his eyes darting around them all, but it turns kind of nervous. 

Still the newest to the pack since he only transferred to Beacon Hills a year ago, right after the nemeton was activated, he tends to get a little anxious around the rest of them. At least, anyone that isn’t Scott, and sometimes Stiles. The whole pack thing—hell, the whole werewolf thing—is still new to him in a lot of ways. It’ll just take some time before he gets more confident. 

He clears his throat and turns his attention to Scott, fixing his eyes firmly on him with a little more uncertainty as he asks, “What, uh… what _do_ you need us to do?”

“You know how we have plans for the last day of Hanukkah, and for Christmas Eve?” Scott asks, and receives nods and vague murmurs (a mildly annoyed grumble of, “do I have to get up early for that, too?”) of confirmation. “Well, my dad’s decided to stick around town for all of that. And… I may need you to lie to him.”

That earns him a few looks of confusion. A few more suspicious glances as well. He can’t blame them; it doesn’t sound great without a whole lot of context.

“Why do we need to lie to your dad?” Liam asks, sounding less and less sure that he wants to be included in this particular pack activity. 

“Because he sucks,” Stiles says without missing a beat. He then shoots Scott an apologetic, panicked glance, and quickly backtracks, “Used to suck. That’s—that’s what I meant. The jury is undetermined at the present moment about where we actually stand on the matter.”

“I’m gonna come out to him, and to do that, there’s this plan that… we’re not totally sure we’re gonna go through with yet, but it’s a plan that Stiles and I have,” Scott explains. 

“Pretend we’re dating,” Stiles continues. “We’ll fake a break-up after New Year, since he’ll be gone by then. But that way, he’ll have to believe that Scott is telling the truth, and also to see if he would only tolerate Scott being, you know, silently gay, rather than happily in a relationship with another guy—i.e. Me.”

“So, if we do go through with it, we need you to cover for us on the off-chance that he mentions anything about our relationship to any of you while you’re around him,” Scott says. “Just, make sure details add up, leave nothing for him to poke holes in. We’ve already figured everything out, we just… need you guys on-board with it.”

Everyone’s quiet. Processing. Hearing it all said aloud like that, Scott will admit, it sounds a little crazy. Almost like he’s trying to provoke his dad into proving that he hasn’t actually changed. But Scott wants to believe him. That’s why this is important. If his dad can accept this, then maybe he is different. Maybe giving him a real chance to be a part of his life in some small way wouldn’t be the worst thing.

After a moment, a consensus is reached. Liam is the first to agree to keep their cover. Followed by Kira, and Allison, then Isaac and Malia, who don’t care about the lying aspect enough to have any hesitations anyway.

“I just… might need some notes,” Malia says, shifting slightly in her seat, eyes cast down at the table. “To remember everything, that is.”

Lydia inhales slowly, then smiles at her, and nods. “I will write down everything that you might need to know. And go over them with you.”

Malia hesitates, then gives a small nod of thanks back. Scott is silently relieved. With everyone agreeing to help out if need be, that’s one less thing he has to worry about. He looks over at Stiles. He’s still fiddling absentmindedly with the dreidel. 

But when he catches his eye, Stiles’ face lights up and he grins at him, looking just as relieved and actually a little excited about things going so well so far. Pocketing the dreidel once more, Stiles slaps his hands on the table in an upbeat rhythm and motions his head towards the counter.

“Well, I am starving, so, anyone want anything while we’re here? You know, we have other things to discuss, might as well get some food and drinks to keep us going.”

There are immediately many voices talking over each other. Stiles blinks. 

Scott chuckles and waves a hand. “Come on, I’ll help. I got… most of that.”

“Oh, thank god, because all I heard was bagel and strawberry.” 

Stiles gets up with him. They head over to order for everyone and themselves, checking the menu overhead as Ruby writes it all down. She fills in a lot of the blanks before they even voice half of the orders; they’re all fairly predictable and consistent, it would seem, since their orders hardly ever vary. 

Ruby leans her hands on the counter, smiling as she looks at Stiles and asks, “Happy Hanukkah, by the way. Any plans for tonight?”

He shrugs. “Not really. Seventh night, you know? Just the usual, sit at home with my dad, light the menorah, eat some food. Ooohh, speaking of—”

“I conveniently do have a batch of latkes ready to go,” Ruby says, her smile growing as Stiles’ eyes sparkle with utter joy, silently pleading. She scribbles on her notepad. “And two latkes. Anything else? Before you ask, I’m afraid we are out of sufganiyot.”

Stiles’ face falls. He looks hopeful as he asks, “Any doughnuts, at least? I need something fried and filled with sugar, Ruby, you know me.”

“I can do doughnuts,” Ruby says, nodding in amusement. “They’re not as good as my usual sufganiyot, but they’re not a bad substitute either, if I do say so myself.”

“Then I will take whatever you recommend,” Stiles says. “I trust you completely. I mean, you’ve never given any of us food poisoning, so, clearly you have knowledge and skills. My breakfast is in your hands, oh wise one!”

Scott and Ruby laugh, exchanging a glance that’s become pretty common between them when with Stiles. Ruby just shakes her head fondly and tells them to try and not destroy the diner before disappearing into the back to get their orders started. 

Scott turns to face Stiles and watches him pull the dreidel back out and spin it along the counter. He catches it just before it goes off the edge.

“At least now, if we do decide to go through with it, we know that no one will say anything wrong, Scott says, gauging Stiles for a reaction.

Spinning the dreidel again, Stiles takes a breath, and with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, says, “Yeah. Still a little worried about Malia, and definitely about Isaac and Liam—and if Derek’s around, that’s going to be a problem, because I can’t see him lying for us. Then again, I can’t see your dad actually trying to interact with him at all; I definitely wouldn’t if given the choice.”

Scott chuckles despite the sinking in his stomach. “Well, don’t worry. I haven’t heard anything from Derek in a few weeks. I should probably stop by the loft and see how he’s doing. He might have gone out of town to check on Cora, but… I feel like he would have texted or something, at least.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him. He snorts, and says, “I’m sure the guy’s fine, probably just holing himself up in his little werewolf den of solitude with his crazy uncle.”

Scott's sure he's probably right. But something is still niggling at him, just this feeling whenever he thinks about Derek and how quiet he's been lately. Maybe the holidays just aren't a good time for him.

His eyes are drawn back to the spinning dreidel. The holidays aren't really a great time for any of them. 

"Hey, are you okay?" Scott asks, deciding to just put all of the cards on the table and go for it. Stiles will talk if he wants to. "You just seem… anxious."

"Seem or smell?" Stiles retorts with a joke.

"Both."

Stiles snorts again and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well. Hard not to be, I guess, but there's nothing major going on in my head, so you don't need to worry. This" —he catches the dreidel mid-spin, holding it up— "is just my lovely ADHD. And I'm trying to get some feeling back in my hands, they're still like icicles."

Scott smiles with a small chuckle. There's still some worry though, visible in the crease in his forehead, and he can't help but ask, "So, that's all?"

Stiles glances at him, then stops the dreidel again with a sigh and properly turns to Scott.

"I promise you, this isn't about the plan. I told you that I am all on-board for it; it was _my_ plan! I still want you to be sure before we go ahead with it, but I'm not anxious or overthinking it." 

“Not even because your dad disapproves?”

“Not even because of that,” Stiles agrees. “Trust me, I have been fine doing things that he disapproves of. That is… pretty much every decision I’ve made in my life until this point, and this is actually really low on the list. He’s more just worried about you, that’s all, but I’ve told you, I’m still in if you are.”

Scott nods, his smile growing as a weight lifts slowly from his chest. “Okay."  
  


***

“I’ve made a decision,” Scott decides to say, when they’ve both been quiet for the past few minutes and he’s had time to really think on it. 

Stiles glances at him, eyebrows raising slightly. It brings Scott’s attention to the smudge of flour on his forehead. There’s flour everywhere at this moment in time, though, Scott admits. They do this every year, and yet both of their kitchens always end up a disaster. Every year it’s just gotten worse because of the increasing rise in the number of pack members who get invited over for dinner on the last day of Hanukkah.

At least Allison and Lydia have offered to help out with some of this year, taking a few of the things to be made for tomorrow off their hands by making them at their own houses. 

“About what you’re getting your secret santa recipient?” Stiles jokes, pausing momentarily from kneading the dough to scratch his cheek with the back of his wrist. It’s a good thing, too, because there’s still a bit of jam on his hand. 

Scott widens his eyes and feigns alarm. “Oh god. I forgot about secret santa.”

Stiles snorts. He goes back to kneading. “Please. You bought the present and had it wrapped three weeks ago, and I’m betting you hid it… in your closet, on the top shelf, behind a pile of hoodies.”

“No, that’s a present for my mom’s birthday,” Scott says.

Stiles rolls his eyes but then he falters and gives him a look. His eyes narrow. “Wait, are you kidding? I can’t tell, why can’t I tell? Did you seriously forget about secret santa?!”

Scott breaks and starts snickering. Stiles gapes at him, looking absolutely affronted.

“You—” He shoves into him as best he can with his elbow, merely poking him— “dick! You genuinely scared me! We exchange presents tomorrow, you cannot give me that kind of fear the night before, when all of the good stores are closed!” 

“Don’t worry, I definitely already have it,” Scott assures him as he finally picks up another potato and starts peeling it. “My mom’s birthday presents are in my bottom drawer.”

Stiles’ look of disbelief only grows. He pokes a doughy finger at him, getting some on his shirt as Scott laughs and tries to swat him away. He only succeeds when he has to quickly move the knife out of Stiles’ way to avoid him accidentally chopping off one of his own fingers and Stiles figures it’s best not to play with knives.

“But I wasn’t talking about secret santa. Which, by the way, I didn’t get you,” Scott tells him with a grin, setting aside the potato skins as he goes.

Stiles makes a noise of disappointment. “Damn, I was so hoping. You know, secret santa was so much easier when it was just you, me, and our parents. Getting you was ridiculously easy. Actually… we got each other every year… yet we all still ended up with more than one present… did our parents trick us?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Scott agrees. “But, what I was talking about was the whole fake relationship thing. I’ve made a decision.”

Stiles fully stops now. He looks at Scott in alarm. “But there’s still—” he taps his phone, ignoring the dough on his fingers “—five hours until midnight! You can’t make up your mind yet, I strictly said until the end of the day, and we haven’t even lit the menorah yet!”

Scott opens his mouth, but Stiles whirls his finger on him.

“Wait until we’ve lit the menorah,” Stiles demands. “That’s only, like, ten minutes away! Just—wait, and think it over, and make sure that whatever you’ve decided, you’re absolutely positive that you’re willing to deal with whatever will come out of it.”

It’s taking a lot of Scott’s self-restraint not to smile. He bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself, and agrees to Stiles’ conditions. A little part of him can’t help but wonder what exactly Stiles means though. Whatever will come out of it? He understands that things could go wrong, but… 

He tries not to think too much into it. He’ll tell Stiles how he feels—even if it’s all new to him and he hasn’t fully figured it out yet, he wants to tell him, they always share things as big as this. 

They manage to finish up the overnight preparations for the kugel and get the challah braided and into the oven just before Stiles’ dad calls through to them. 

“You got the siddur?” Stiles asks as they walk into the living room, brushing excess dough and flour and jam off onto the shirt that he tosses to the side to be washed. Scott has a feeling he’s not getting that one back for a while. He doesn’t mind. 

Stiles’ dad gives a theatrical sigh, holding the small, leather-bound prayer book up with a raised eyebrow in fond exasperation. “Yes. I lost it one time, two years ago, you don’t need to worry about it.”

“Just making sure,” Stiles says, holding his hands up. “You used to try and get out of this part.”

“I tried to get out of all of it,” his dad corrects. His smile and his eyes turn a little softer. “But I am glad that you convinced me otherwise.”

Scott catches Stiles’ hidden smile when his dad turns away from them for a second. He remembers all the years before, when his dad was still around and Stiles’ mom was alive. She was Jewish, and so is Stiles’ dad, but with the way he was raised by his own dad, he never liked to really acknowledge any holidays. It was Stiles’ mom who got him back into it, for Stiles. 

Scott remembers years of celebrating every holiday with them, because Stiles’ parents always invited them over. He remembers Stiles, age five, getting the dreidel that he’s still got in his pocket right now, and them figuring out how to use it. He remembers how excited they were about the gelt, and about all of the food. Especially the sufganiyot. They were always Stiles’ mom speciality. She let Stiles help every time she made them. 

And he remembers how all of the celebrations just kind of stopped after she died. Stiles was heartbroken the first time his dad told him they weren’t going to do any of this year. Scott tried his best to make him feel better, offered to have mini celebrations on their own, together, but it wasn’t the same. Scott knew that. It was about being with his dad. It took nearly three years for Stiles to convince his dad that they should start doing it all again, mostly by surprise-attack with sufganiyot on Rosh Hashanah.

“Where would you be without me?” Stiles jokes, patting his dad on the shoulder. Then he straightens up, clearing his throat, and holds out a hand. “If you please. I’m lighting it tonight.”

His dad gives him a funny look, hesitating to hand the lighter over. “You never light it.”

“Well, I want to now, so—gimme!”

Scott and his dad exchange a look, but Scott just shrugs, just as clueless about Stiles’ change of mind. His dad caves and gives him the lighter, taking a step back to let him stand in front of the windowsill. 

“You’re still doing the prayers, though,” Stiles tells him, waving the lighter at him.

His dad rolls his eyes and mutters, “of course” but he grins as he opens the siddur. 

He flips through it for a couple of seconds before he finds the right page. Giving his throat a quick clear, he starts reciting the prayer that’s been practically ingrained in Scott’s mind his entire life, able to recite it word for word himself. Even if he doesn’t fully understand what the whole thing means, he gets the general idea of it from what Stiles’ dad has told him.

Stiles lights the helper candle—the shamash, Scott remembers—then picks it up and brings its flame to the first candle as his dad continues with the prayer. From left to right, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven candles, all burning. 

His dad’s voice trails off to an end and Stiles takes a step back after placing the shamash back in its place. From this angle, Scott can only see a glimpse of his expression. The downturned smile. The flames of the menorah reflect in his eyes like a barrier to hide the sadness shining back for a split second.

When his dad lays a hand on his shoulder, his smile grows into something a little happier, then he draws in a breath and turns to Scott. He gives him a look, nodding his head to the kitchen. There’s something about the way his eyes widen, looking keen to escape. From what, though?”

“Hey—hold on a second.” Stiles’ dad stops them before they can take even a step. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you boys about something. Scott, Stiles told me about your dad being in town.”

“Oh no,” Stiles groans, barely audible, and Scott thinks it wasn’t meant to be at all, but heightened hearing is beyond even his own control. 

Scott glances between them in confusion, but what Stiles said this morning is coming back to him. “Yeah, he is.”

“Dad.” Stiles shakes his head, staring at his dad with a strange look. “Please.”

Confused, but thinking he has some idea of what’s going on, Scott says to Stiles’ dad, “I know that Stiles told you that I want to come out to my dad, and how we were going to do it, and I know you don’t approve. I totally get why, and I promise you that I have thought it through completely.”

His dad looks sceptical and, most of all, concerned. “Are you really sure you have, though? I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret. Not that I’m saying you shouldn’t tell him you’re gay—I wholeheartedly support you on that, you know I do. I just want you to be sure that you want to do it like this, and you’re willing to handle whatever happens afterwards.”

Scott isn’t oblivious to the quick glance he throws at Stiles when he says the last part. The logical part of his mind is sure that they have to just mean whatever happens with his dad, but something about the way they both said it is bothering him now. It’s like he’s missing something. 

“I am,” he says anyway, and he really means it. He knows the risks he’s taking. More than just with his dad. His eyes drift to Stiles. “Whatever happens, I’m willing to take responsibility for it.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, something flickering across his face. He steps towards Scott, gently pulling him aside, away from his dad. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asks. “Absolutely, one-hundred-percent, no regrets sure? Because, we could back out at any point if you changed your mind halfway through, fake a fight and breakup in front of your dad if you really wanted to, or just tell him we were pretending, I don’t mind either way. I just want you to be okay with whatever decision you make.”

Smiling a lot at Stiles’ rambling, Scott nods. “I’m absolutely, one-hundred-percent sure. My mind’s made up. I want you to be my fake boyfriend. If you’ll have me?”

The idea of Scott being sincere about his agreement to the plan seems to finally be setting in with Stiles. Most of his hesitation appears to fade away with a developing grin. 

“In a heartbeat,” Stiles says softly, and Scott swears, he doesn’t hear an uptick of a joke in his voice. Then Stiles chuckles and maybe it’s just wishful thinking. 

He slings an arm over Scott’s shoulders and turns back to face his dad, spreading the other arm out with his palms facing out. 

“See? This is a great idea,” he says to his dad, who remains looking unconvinced. “Trust us. All you need to do is pretend we’ve been dating for a year. And that’s if you’re even around Scott’s dad at all and if he brings it up. Really, your part in this is miniscule, you barely need to do anything!”

Scott’s pretty sure that that isn’t the problem. But no further arguments are voiced. Stiles’ dad sighs, but he nods, and finally resigns himself to agreeing to cover for them if needed. The timer in the kitchen finally goes off. They head back through to continue the necessary prep for tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it would seem that everyone's on-board... mostly. With Christmas Eve tomorrow, and everyone meeting at Stiles' house for dinner on the last day of Hanukkah, how well can this end...? Hope you enjoy! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up, I was not kidding when I said Rafael sucks in this fic. There's a bit of misogyny and he's just all-around not great, so if you're not too comfortable with that, you can skip this chapter or it's totally okay if you wanna stop reading here!

It’s fairly easy to avoid Scott’s dad—and by extension, actually making their plan real and potentially having to revisit the whole little kissing situation they had back in Scott’s bedroom—for most of the day. Stiles is too busy at home helping his dad with dinner. 

He hasn’t seen Scott since last night, when he said good night before heading off home. He’ll be back at dinner, which is taking place in two hours, an hour into the Christmas Eve/Hanukkah combination “party” that’s being held at his house. He uses the word loosely considering it’s really just more of a casual hangout with food, early presents, and TV. 

It would have been at Lydia’s house, as most and all Christmas Eve parties typically are, but they switched it around this year for the simple fact of the last day of Hanukkah falling on the same day. Stiles wanted to be with his dad, and Scott usually comes over to celebrate with them, and Lydia didn’t want to miss out on seeing them. It took a lot of convincing on Stiles’ part because of how much she threw around the word party, but he was swayed in the end. 

Now, however? Many regrets, big time. Totally wishing that he was able to just hole himself up in his bedroom and stay there until tomorrow morning. But it’s fine. It’s literally just some of their friends, and Scott and Melissa. 

That’s good, that makes it a little less scary. They’re his family, they’re usually here with him, so at least that’s the same. It’s just… a couple more people. People he  _ likes _ , he reminds himself. It is totally fine. 

“Stiles, this is amazing,” Allison gushes over the sufganiyot. “It’s— _ oh my god.” _

Stiles laughs as she takes another bite, cutting herself off. In truth, the compliment brings a comforting warmth to him. Knowing that his mom’s recipe and everything she taught him wasn’t wasted. 

As if able to tell what’s on his mind—or maybe not as if, maybe literally, Stiles has given up figuring out when people can read him and when they are literally _ reading him _ anymore—Scott gives him a small, sad at the corners smile. 

He gives his knee a gentle squeeze. A small comfort that helps a lot. 

“She would be really proud of you,” Scott murmurs, nodding, completely certain of his own words as he speaks them. 

Stiles takes in a deep breath. “I hope so. I know how much celebrating every part of being Jewish meant to her. I just… I hate the idea of letting her down somehow.”

“You never could,” Melissa’s voice chimes in softly, but firmly, and Stiles twists his head around to look up at her. She was floating nearby last time he checked but must have caught a snippet of their conversation as her smile is nearly identical to Scott’s. 

“And the same goes for me,” his dad agrees from behind the couch that Stiles is perched on the arm of with Scott, Lydia, and Allison seated around and across from him. 

Stiles returns his small smile. He believes him—he believes them all, tells himself he does, because what good does it do him not to? She’s never going to be able to tell him for herself what the truth is, so where’s the harm in letting himself live in a fantasy where he can tell himself that he’s sure she would be? 

“ _ I’m _ proud of you,” his dad tells him, a hand on his shoulder, the gentle pressure emphasizing the words. “And I always will be.”

Stiles rolls his tongue, curling it against the sides of his teeth. He keeps his lips pressed together as he swallows. Blinking back the building blur of threatening tears, he clears his throat and pulls himself back together.

“Thanks, dad,” he says. Then his eyes shift to Melissa and Scott, “Thank you.”

Scott smiles again but it flickers this time. His eyes seem… unfocused when he looks away, his hand returning to his own lap, like he’s not quite here.

“Come on,” Stiles hears Melissa quietly say to his dad, subtly removing the two of them from the situation. “I want to see if that kugel’s ready, because you didn’t make it last year. I was severely disappointed.”

“Are you okay?” Allison asks Scott, concern creased between her eyebrows. 

Stiles knocks the side of his thigh into Scott’s shoulder. He nods slowly, and his eyes come back to them, a glimpse of the thoughtful look lingering in them and around his barely-there smile. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he lies. 

“Thinking about your dad?” Lydia guesses.

Correctly, it would seem. Scott looks down at his hands, fidgeting with them in a way that Stiles is definitely sure he picked up from him at some point without him noticing. 

No one voices the thought that they’re now all thinking. That there’s less certainty about whether or not Scott will be able to have the same conversation with his dad. With the same sentiment repeated. The same loving pride. God, Stiles hopes so. He has to believe so, for Scott’s sake, because the thought of what the alternative would do to Scott… 

He’s said how his dad’s opinion doesn’t matter to him, many times, to a point where Stiles is starting to see the desperate hope and clinging optimism out of fear of anything else underneath it. 

As much hostility as he may feel towards him, and as much as he may genuinely not care about having his dad in his life, there’s still a part of him that is the eight-year-old little boy who blamed himself for having asthma. 

The same part who blamed himself when his dad left, thinking he had done something wrong. The part who cried to Stiles all night when they were thirteen because he had finally realized he was gay at the same time that his dad granted Melissa full custody and stopped Scott from living with him every third week, and he was sure there was a connection.

But Scott smiles now, a little more genuine, with a little more sparkle in his eyes. He nudges Stiles back and gestures his head behind them to the window. 

“It’s nearly time for the menorah, right? Sun sets in just over an over.”

“Sixty-seven minutes,” Lydia chimes in, checking her phone. 

Stiles’ eyes widen. “Shit. Uh, okay, right—Dad! Yo, pops! Daddio! All right, I know you can hear me, I can literally see you in the kitchen pretending you can’t. We have a menorah to light, so—”

“If you ask me if I have this thing one more time, I’m going to make you read it ,” his dad warns him, waving the siddur at him. But he puts down his glass, and he and Melissa rejoin them. 

Stiles swipes up the lighter from the windowsill. He’s a little more antsy about it tonight, with so many more people in the room. But he reminds himself to breathe, and his hand is surprisingly steady when he lights the Shamash. He keeps at his dad’s pace of reading the prayer, moving from one candle to the next, left to right, until the entire menorah is lit. He places the Shamash back in the holder as his dad finishes reading.

“All right,” Stiles claps his hands together, turning back to the room, “who wants food?”

There is a unanimous agreement. Some tension eases from Stiles’ shoulders as his friends resume their chattering, and Scott smiles at him, starting to get up. He was totally right, he had nothing to be worried about! Everything is totally fine.

There’s a knock at the front door. 

Stiles glances at his dad, but his expression only mirrors his confusion back at him. He even does a quick count of everyone in the room to make sure that he hasn’t just failed to notice that one of his friends hasn’t been here this entire time. But everyone’s here, even Isaac.

He takes a few short strides to the door and opens it. His heart launches itself right down into a pit in his stomach when he looks up into the face of Scott’s dad. 

“Hi,” he says, as Stiles glances over at Scott in alarm. “I, uh… I heard that you guys were celebrating here, and I… well, I was wondering if I could come in? Hoping, actually.”

Stiles’ first instinct is, of course, to crush those hopes without hesitation and send him on his way with a smile. But Scott walks up behind him, a hand resting on his back as he moves to his side. 

Stiles forces himself not to react, then he realizes: this isn’t part of the act. When Scott gets nervous, he tends to reach out for him, even in some small way. He just hasn’t done it in a while.

“Dad,” Scott says, with a slight shake of his head. “What… I thought you went back to your hotel yesterday? You said you’d see us tomorrow, what are you…?”

“I did, but…” His dad shrugs. “I saw no point in us not celebrating Christmas Eve—and, of course, Hanukkah—” he shoots Stiles a smile as if that’s all it’s going to take for him to let him inside, before looking back at Scott “—together. I mean, that’s why I’m here, right? I don’t want to waste any time over the next week, so…”

Stiles’ eyes narrow at him. He’s not buying it for a second. Not just because he doesn’t and never will trust a word that comes out of the man’s mouth, but also because he just doesn’t seem that sincere. 

Obviously he wants to spend time with Scott, get back in his good books, that part Stiles is sure he’s genuine about. But it just feels like he’s holding something back. His real reason for trying this hard.

Scott’s just staring back at his dad. Even he can feel something off about the whole situation. But his expression flickers. Stiles can tell what he’s thinking by the twitch of his mouth. This is an opportunity. Tonight could be the perfect night to put the plan into full action and finally tell him.

Already readying himself to get into the act, Stiles isn’t surprised when Scott turns to give him a questioning look. He smiles and nods. 

“Yeah, of course,” Stiles says, to him, and to Scott’s dad. He shifts his eyes back to him, giving his politest smile. “Come in. More the merrier, right? That’s usually how the saying goes. We already lit the menorah though, so apologies for not waiting for your unexpected drop-in.”

He throws a chuckle in at the end to sound less sarcastic and more joking. It seems to work as Scott’s dad laughs with him and takes the invite to walk inside. 

“No, no, that’s—that’s perfectly fine,” he assures them.

He slips his coat off, then pauses. Stiles follows his line of his sight to his own dad, just staring at him with a twisted grimace of loathing. And Stiles thought  he wasn’t subtle about his feelings. 

When his dad’s eyes dart to him, Stiles gives him a look telling him not to do anything. The last thing he needs, and definitely the last thing that Scott needs, is a fight between their dads. It’s bad enough that Scott doesn’t know what’s happening between them at work. He doesn’t need him to find out like this, not when things are going fairly well for the time being. 

Fortunately for all of them, his dad gets the message. As much as it clearly pains him, he looks away. Turns back to Melissa, which, Stiles thinks probably isn’t going to help the situation too much either but he can’t do much about that other than hope for the best. 

They rejoin everyone else and Stiles, his dad, Melissa, and Scott disappear into the kitchen to get dinner out. The atmosphere isn’t as tense as Stiles anticipated, thankfully. 

Scott’s dad is polite and smiling and laughing along with others. Out of everyone, he’s actually the least uncomfortable; Liam and Mason keep shooting uncertain glances between him and Scott; Allison and Lydia keep trying to find opportunities to engage him in conversation to avoid awkward silences, and others just avoid speaking by sipping from their glass or eating something. 

Honestly, Stiles thinks it might be a successful night after all. 

Except for the fact that the main topic of conversation hasn’t been brought up yet. 

Stiles has no idea if Scott’s even planning to do it tonight. Maybe just not in front of so many people, maybe he’ll wait until after dinner, get him off to the side on his own. Either way, dinner is going great; everyone loves the food, conversation is flowing, and for once Stiles feels pretty much as relaxed as he can be at a kind of party.

After Allison’s finished explaining how Isaac’s spending Christmas with her and her dad tomorrow because they’ve been dating for a few months, Scott’s dad turns to look at Scott.

“So, what about you?” he asks, with a tone that implies he’s a typical teasing father. 

Scott’s eyebrows raise. “What about me? What am I doing tomorrow?”

“No. I meant do you have a certain someone you’d like to spend the holidays with?” He nods his head towards Allison and Isaac at the other end of the table, grinning. “After all, this seems to be the season of love and romance.”

Stiles nearly chokes on his bite of kugel, and not because of the broccoli he put in it to make it a little healthier for his dad. They had managed to avoid the subject of relationships, specifically in the context of Scott or Stiles, for the entire dinner so far. It was bound to come up eventually, he supposes.

It would probably help if Scott didn’t look as thrown by the question. He stares at his dad, his mouth starting to open, then closing again as he forces out a short chuckle to buy him time. He’s hesitating. 

Kicking himself from his own momentary loss of composure, Stiles quickly says, “You know, I think that that would actually be Valentine’s Day. Christmas is supposed to be more about presents, right? Say, what’s everyone hoping for this year? I would start but, you know, we don’t really do the whole present thing. Lydia! You go!”

Put on the spot, Lydia falters, her eyes widening in alarm. 

“Well—” she starts, only to stop again, sucking on her lips as she quickly tries to rack her mind.

“Surely there’s someone you’ve had your eye on,” Scott’s dad continues, as if he can’t hear the change in subject they’re desperately trying to force. “A girl at school, maybe?”

“You know, what I really want this year is a—a new phone,” Mason jumps in, nodding along to sound more convincing as he raises the volume a little to try.

Latching onto it, Stiles joins his nodding with an interested hum. “A—a new phone? That’s great! What, uh, what happened to your old one?”

“I, uh… dropped it,” Mason says. “On the ground. At school! I was on the lacrosse field, because… I wanted to try out for the team, and my phone… fell out of my pocket, and… someone stepped on it!”

“That’s so inconvenient!” 

“Or are you holding out for a college girl?” Scott’s dad asks with a chuckle. “That would be a smart decision.”

Lydia straightens, Allison’s head snaps up, Erica’s eyebrows raise, Kira frowns, and Malia looks fairly murderous. No one else at the table is looking too thrilled at the current moment. Stiles and Mason let their attempt fizzle out into the silence.

Well, he tried. 

“What, pray tell, does that mean?” Lydia asks, a false sweetness coating her voice so thickly that it would be near impossible to misunderstand. Head leaned on her hands and tilted, she continues, “Do you think that girls who don’t go to college have less to offer in a relationship?”

Scott’s dad looks somewhat more uncomfortable now than he did when he arrived. Stiles is slowly seeing the chance of saving this night dwindling before his eyes. 

Trying to play it casual, or maybe just such an oblivious dumbass, Scott’s dad tries to brush the tension off with a chuckle. “Well, I just mean that getting into something with a girl while in high school tends to end sourly. She goes off to college, probably a different one, and nine times out of ten meets some fascinating new guy and that’s it over. You breakup or one of you cheats, usually her. It’s just how girls tend to be around that age, but if you meet the girl at college, then  _ you _ become that new fascinating guy.”

There is silence. Just complete silence. 

No one else can believe those words actually just came out of his mouth, and with that amount of certainty and confidence. Stiles is sure he’s never wanted to punch someone more. This was not how he was expecting tonight to become a disaster.

“So, let me get this straight,” Melissa says, putting down her cutlery with a glare fixed on Scott’s dad that Stiles would wither under if on the receiving end. “You’re not only saying that young girls are just bound to cheat and can’t stay committed, but also are encouraging boys—your  _ son _ —to pursue a girl in a relationship and be the reasons she cheats? Am I—am I getting that right?”

“Come on, Melissa,” Scott’s dad sighs as if she’s pulling out some personal attack on him. Yet he’s smiling. No, no — he’s smirking. A cocky, arrogant, want-to-punch-him-in-the-face smirk.

“No, please, do explain what you meant if I got it wrong!” she says.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head as if she’s being unbelievable. “I just meant that college girls are less high-maintenance and they’re just easier in general.”

And the gates to hell opened to let loose wrath of rightful indignation. Half of what gets said is lost in the simultaneous exclamations of disbelief.

“Are you kidding me?” Scott says in disgust at the same time as Allison seethes, “‘ _ Easier _ ’?” 

“Did you actually just not think that through before you said it or did you just decide that you wanted to sound like a complete and total scumbag?” Stiles questions.

“Exactly how many college girls have you been around?” Lydia asks. 

“Trust me, you don’t want a number,” Melissa tells her, a cold sharpness in her voice.

And many other words of disbelief that get thrown at him from every person in the room. 

Scott’s dad scoffs at it all. “Oh come on—”

“‘Come on’?” Scott cuts him off before he can continue. There’s no longer a hopeful glint in his eyes when he looks at him. “What did you expect?! Do you even hear yourself half the time? You have to know that you don’t get to just say whatever you want and expect everyone to give you a pass for it.”

“That’s enough, Scott,” his dad says tightly. 

It reminds Stiles of when they were kids. It’s the same tone he’d use whenever he was mad about something. Stiles didn’t hear it nearly as much as Scott did, though, and he can see the hesitation on Scott’s face, the fight-or-flight response kicking in as if he was still a scared seven-year-old.

“No,” Scott says, because he isn’t that scared seven-year-old anymore. “No! You don’t get to decide what’s enough. You don’t get to decide anything. I’m not just going to sit back while you say things like that! Not anym—”

“I said enough!” Scott’s dad bangs his hands against the table.

Scott flinches. Melissa flinches. Stiles’ dad flinches, so does Isaac, and honestly, nearly everyone out of sheer surprise and fright of this stranger suddenly turning so aggressive.

“You need to leave,” Stiles’ dad says quietly, but firmly.

Scott’s dad just stares back, a seething look on his face. For a moment, Stiles worries he isn’t going to leave. It would be easy enough to force him out, what with his own dad, and Parrish, and a whole bunch of werewolves in the room. 

“I see nothing’s changed around here,” he says coldly, but he stands from his chair. “Always trying to make me the bad guy, huh. And in front of my son, as usual.”

“Don’t,” Scott says flatly. He gets up from his own seat, moving for the door. 

Stiles is alarmed, thinking that Scott’s about to walk out. But instead, he holds the door open, waiting for his dad. With another scoff, he strides across the room, grabbing his coat from where he left it on the back of a chair and leaves.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Scott assures them all, looking at their parents and Stiles. 

Then he follows his dad outside and closes the door behind them, leaving the rest of them in a silence that no one wants to break. 

“This food is… is really good, Mr Stilinski,” Liam says, but everyone remains quiet, and his attempt at a smile fades a little, so he adds, “uh, what’s the saying? … Mazel tov?”

“Liam,” Mason says softly and shakes his head when he looks at him, resting a hand on his arm as a silent signal. “That’s… not even close to right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this up! I was trying to finish the whole fic first, but life got in the way, but now I'm finally done! I hope you all enjoy! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another heads-up: Rafael still sucks, but way more! Homophobia will ensue, so proceed with caution (though to be clear, no homophobic language is used, and there is no violence, just a non-accepting father). Also, a tiny mention of the Glen Capri and how Scott felt during that (kind of, it doesn't really go into it, more just a reminder of it in a subtle way, so do with that what you will). And a mild therapy session with some of the pack askjfhaskjf. Hope you lot enjoy! <3

Scott closes the front door behind him and turns to face his dad on the porch. 

“I don’t know what was going on back there,” his dad is saying. “Your mother, twisting my words, like usual! And, of course, Stilinski would defend her like that. Trying to make me look like the bad guy, and in front of all your friends. It’s just childish, really, I mean—”

“You made yourself the bad guy,” Scott cuts in angrily. “Not just today, but for my entire life. When I was three.”

His dad’s face morphs into some twisted version of an apologetic look. “Scott, I—”

“When I was five,” Scott continues. “And I found Mom crying in her bedroom, because you had gotten drunk and cheated on her. When I was six and couldn’t sleep because you had come home, drunk, and started shouting at Mom for some stupid little thing that you decided was her fault.”

“Could you just let me—”

“Every time that I was the only one there for my mom because you didn’t come home, and despite everything, despite knowing what you were out doing, she was worried about you. Being the one to stay up all night with her, and listening to her crying to Stiles’ mom and dad about you.”

His dad’s jaw clenches and he looks away, as if he’s ashamed but he isn’t. Scott can smell every emotion on him right now and not a single one of them is shame, or guilt, or remorse. 

“Scott, you were young, you don’t unders—”

“I understand perfectly,” Scott says harshly, his voice cracking and his eyes stinging. “I understood every time something was broken when I woke up, and every time you came home and screamed at Mom until she went quiet and I fell asleep to the sound of her crying.”

A tear falls, maybe two, maybe more, he doesn’t  _ care _ . His dad is refusing to look at him because all he is and ever had been is a coward, and it’s so obvious to him that it was never the alcohol that did that. 

“You were always the bad guy in my life!” he chokes out, forcing a sob to stay in his throat, to keep his claws in, to keep his eyes from glowing, and to keep himself together enough not to fall apart. “Every time that you came home drunk, you became the monster that every little kid imagines is under their bed. Except you were real, and you were my dad! Kids aren’t meant to be terrified of what their dad is going to do next! Do you even remember how terrified I was of you?”

He stares at his dad through blurred eyes, blinking away as many of the tears as he can. His dad’s stopped trying to argue. Because he does remember, Scott realizes. He can see it on his face, smell it around him. 

“After you left, moved to San Francisco, you got part-time custody of me because I had begged Mom to let me see you because I was so sure I was the reason you had left. And I remember you telling me you were sober. That everything that had happened in the past was because of the alcohol, but you were better now. But… you weren’t always drunk, were you?”

He gets no answer. He isn’t expecting one at this point anyway. 

“Tonight proved that,” Scott says quietly, because the fight is leaving him, his chest and throat aching. He feels like he’s having an asthma attack all over again. 

Forcing out a humourless laugh, realization strikes. 

“You came here for a second chance, even though I already gave you one when I willingly came to San Francisco even after everything you put Mom and me through. And I gave you that chance, because I thought maybe you really had changed, somehow, that you actually felt bad.”

“I have changed,” his dad finally speaks up. 

His eyes are shining as if he, too, is crying, but all Scott can see in front of him now is a pathetic excuse for an act. A charade put on to buy his sympathy. 

“That’s why I came here,” he quickly continues, taking a step towards Scott. “Give me a chance to really prove it, okay? I swear to you, all of that—I would understand if you didn’t want to forgive me. But just… you’re eighteen now, going to college, and a fresh start could be good for you. Good for us.”

Scott’s eyes narrow but he catches on quick. He laughs—actually laughs because it’s all he has left in him now. 

“Oh my god,” he breathes out. “You want me to move back with you? That’s why you’re here. To convince me to leave Beacon Hills—to leave Mom, and Stiles, and his dad, and everyone who actually cares about me. So that you can get in my head and make me think you’re this victim that you keep trying to pretend that you are.”

“It was good, wasn’t it? The two of us, in San Francisco?” his dad says, desperation creeping into his voice. He’s losing, and he doesn’t like losing. 

No, he breaks things when he loses, he gets mad and forces the hand of the winner until they’re convinced that they were wrong all along and must have made up their win. That he was right all along. 

“No,” Scott says quietly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t. Because I was still terrified of you. Always treating those weeks with you like some game, and I always had to let you win. I couldn’t make a wrong move like any other kid could without worrying about how you’d react. By not being too much, too present, too me. So that you would love me. So that you wouldn’t leave again. But… I don’t care anymore.”

“Scott, what are you…?”

“I’m gay.”

The words tumblr from his mouth without a second thought. He’s exhausted and he is _ done _ . Done trying to let his dad win a game that only ever benefits him, and done trying to be anything less than what his dad wants of him. 

He holds his stare, as much as the desire to shrink into himself and hide is trying to take over. He stands there, tall and  _ done _ , but refusing to hide from him anymore.

“But you always knew that,” Scott says, his voice rough but barely above a whisper now from the exhaustion of fighting him. “Didn’t you? It’s why you hated me so much before I was even old enough to understand why. It’s why you didn’t like that I was friends with Stiles. Why you’d… shout at me for no reason, and grab me too hard, and call me names that I wasn’t old enough to know the meaning of.”

His dad just stares back. His wide eyes slowly harden and darken. Shock quickly dies in the wind of denial, then whistles out into coldness. Familiar hatred returns as he presses his lips into a thin line of disgust.

“I should’ve figured,” he spits out, no longer pleading for another chance. “I thought, when I came back, that maybe I had been wrong. Even with you still hanging around Stiles, I thought that just maybe, for once, I wouldn’t have to be disappointed by you.”

The wind is knocked out of Scott’s chest with just a few words. But through it, he figures, he might as well go for the last shot. The final straw.

“Then I guess you definitely won’t be celebrating over the fact that I love Stiles,” he says.

His dad breathes out deeply. It turns into a disbelieving scoff.

“I saw this coming. I knew I should’ve stopped this when you were younger. Taken you away from here, away from all of them. Maybe you’d have actually turned out normal.”

Scott’s heart is engulfed in sharp shards of ice, poking and prodding and tearing through the flesh. And then it cracks and crumbles all at once. His chest is so tight that he would have thought there was wolfsbane nearby. 

He opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. It’s like there’s a golf ball lodged in his throat and he just can’t speak anymore. The words “normal” and “disappointment” are playing in his head on a loop without pause to think clearly.

“Clearly I’m too late,” his dad says. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to put up with me until New Year. I’ll go back to my hotel, and back home to San Francisco as soon as I can.”

He goes to turn away then looks at Scott again. And for the first time, Scott can really, properly see that there’s not a single ounce of love in his eyes. No sliver of hope to cling onto. 

“You’re a disappointment to my name,” he tells him flatly. “To think, at one point I actually hoped you could be a son I could be proud of. I knew I should have left before you were born. Wish I’d had the sense not to even get your mother pregnant in the first place. Maybe my life wouldn’t have been such a mess. But it doesn’t matter. From this point on, I don’t have a child at all. You hear me?”

Then he turns and he walks away without another word while Scott’s left standing on the porch. Completely numb. It’s like his words just bounced off of a forcefield around him.

When his dad’s out of sight, he slowly opens the front door and walks back inside. As he closes it, his mom and Stiles appear in front of him, Stiles’ dad not far behind, and he knows everyone’s eyes are on him. He can’t blame them. 

“Scotty?” Stiles says softly, tender and cautious. Because he knows. They all know. 

And Scott now knows. His dad’s words replay again as he doesn’t answer. The loop doesn’t seem to have an off switch, just going and going.

“He…” Scott swallows, blinking as his eyes start to fill up again, “he wishes I had never been born. My… my dad… thinks it would have been better for him if I wasn’t alive. I-I don’t—I didn’t—I never did anything, did I? I didn’t—I don’t know what I—what I could’ve—”

“Oh, honey, no,” his mom whispers, and she catches him when the forcefield shatters from the pressure and the words puncture every inch of his skin.

She holds him tight in her arms, his face pressed into her shoulder as sobs tear his throat and rack his body, his chest heaving. The numbness is gone, replaced with a sharp, painful twisting. Everything aches but he can’t stop crying. 

“This was not your fault,” his mom whispers, and he can hear the crack in her voice. “You did nothing wrong, sweetie, okay? Your father is always going to be the way he is, but that is not because of you. Okay? I am so proud of you, and I love you so much.”

Scott just cries harder for that. He doesn’t know how long for. He just buries himself in the comfort of her embrace and never wants to let go. She’s always been here. Always loved him unconditionally, through coming out, through being a werewolf, through everything. She’s all he needs. Everyone in this house—they’re his family. He doesn’t need anything else. So why does it still hurt so much?

After a few moments, he pulls back. He’s honestly not sure what happens next, but he faintly registers his mom murmuring something, stroking his cheek, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Then Stiles’ dad’s voice, talking gently to his mom. 

“Scotty.”

He turns to face Stiles. He accepts his hand when he reaches out to him. His eyes are still a little blurred around the edges and he really can’t think straight at the moment. 

“Do you wanna go into the bathroom for a minute?” he asks gently. 

He feels himself nod without really considering the question. Something’s said about the bathroom again, from Stiles to their parents, then he’s letting Stiles guide him around the corner, down the hallway and into the bathroom. 

Leaning against the sink, he watches Stiles close the door then turn to face him. 

“This is going to be the dumbest question ever,” Stiles says as he reaches behind Scott for something, turning on one of the faucets. “But… are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, sniffling. “I’m okay.”

Stiles pauses for a second to look at him properly, full-on pleading eyes before continuing with whatever he’s doing, reaching behind Scott again. 

Caving, Scott breathes out a humourless laugh that comes up short. “Uh… No. No, I’m really not okay. I actually kinda feel like…” He bites his lip. “Never mind.”

He doesn’t even blink when Stiles brings a damp face cloth to his cheek. Just lets him gently wipe away the tear tracks that he’s sure are there. This close and with less tears in his eyes, he notices that the rims of Stiles’ eyes are red and the insides are bloodshot. Guilt tugs at him at the idea that Stiles was crying because of the state he was in. If he’d managed to hold it together a little better, it would have been fine.

“No, what were you going to say?” Stiles asks quietly, holding his stare.

Scott starts to shake his head, but then he takes a deep breath. “It’s gonna sound stupid. And really bad. But, uh… I feel a lot like I did when we were at the Glen Capri. But more aware of everything, which actually just makes it suck way more.”

Stiles takes in a sharp inhale. His hand has paused as he clicks to what Scott’s talking about. They both recall their stay at the Glen Capri motel far too well, and neither really like to dwell on it too much if possible. 

But it’s true. The clawing, yet weirdly empty feeling inside of Scott right now is the same one he had then. Like nothing matters. He doesn’t matter.

Slowly, Stiles resumes what he was doing. He swallows, and Scott can tell he’s carefully considering how to respond. For the moment that it takes, Scott doesn’t mind just watching his thoughtful expression, the way his mouth moves as he rolls his tongue around the inside of his mouth anxiously.

“Okay,” he mutters, nodding. “Um. Then we need to talk about that. Or—or you can talk to your mom, if you’d feel better about that. But just know that I am absolutely here for you to talk to, because…” 

He swallows again, and Scott can see the tears welling up in his eyes, pressing his lips together to try and keep them at bay. 

“Because I love you, Scotty, you know that,” he tells him in a hoarse voice, because it cracks as a tear escapes, quickly rolling down his cheek. “And, uh, you are worth a million times more than him, and fuck—Scott, you are loved by so many people, he does not deserve to make you feel this way when you are so amazing, and wonderful, and—I am rambling, I’m aware, but it’s because I need you to know that I’m proud of you, and I love you, and I never want you to feel like you’re worth nothing, or that he’s right, because he is so incredibly wrong in every possible way about you, I mean—”

“Stiles, Stiles, hey, hey—” Scott quickly cuts him off, grabbing his face, both of them crying. He actually laughs, unable to bite back a smile at Stiles’ incessant rambling. “It’s okay. I know, I know, okay?”

“God, I just—I hate that he gets to have any control over how you see yourself,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “Especially when I can see that you’re so good, and perfect, and—so many people agree with me. You know that, right?”

He’s holding Scott’s wrists now, fingers gently rubbing over the insides as he holds his gaze, making sure he is absolutely hearing every word coming out of his mouth. And he is. So much so that his smile refuses to leave his face even as the tears continue to fall. 

“I need you,” Stiles tells him firmly. “And I would be lost without you. So would literally everyone in this house, alright? Even Derek! I know he’s not here, but he would agree. But just… I love you, okay?”

Scott nods. “I know. I love you.”

“Okay, good.” Stiles breathes out. “And I’m pretty sure that my dad is either going to arrest yours or find a way to keep him out of Beacon Hills for the rest of his life, so.”

Scott laughs. He can’t help himself. After everything, laughter feels good and easier than crying, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have any tears left anyway.

Stiles goes back to gently wiping his face with the cloth when Scott drops his hands. There’s just a numbness starting up again, trying to cover over the hollowness like cling film. His head is aching from the crying, and honestly, all he wants to do right now is sleep it all off and start again tomorrow. 

But there’s still tonight to finish. And a whole house of his friends. His family. And he’d much rather end the night with them, going to bed with thoughts of _ their _ laughter and joy. 

“I forgot to mention,” Scott says, “I kinda went through with the plan. Before he left.”

Stiles’ eyes snap up to his. He tries to show minimal surprise and concern, and Scott knows that he’s thinking it was a key factor in the way things turned out.

“He had already made up his mind about me before I said it,” Scott assures him. His shoulder raises ever so slightly in a shrug. “I just figured, if he already hated me, there was nothing to lose. I actually thought maybe he was just saying everything that he did because he didn’t believe me, but… turns out he already knew. I was right.”

Stiles is quiet. He doesn’t know what to say, and Scott doesn’t blame him. He was left without the right words as well by the time his dad had walked away. 

“Apparently our plan would have worked as well,” Scott adds with a slight laugh that fades out as Stiles wets the cloth again and gently dabs his other cheek. “He didn’t even question it when I told him that I was in love with you.”

His eyes linger on Stiles’ face, just watching him. Stiles pauses. He actually looks surprised.

“You… you said that to him?” he asks, his voice betraying any act of nonchalance he was trying to keep up. He just drops his eyes back to his hand and the cloth. “We never even discussed if we were at the  _ I love you _ stage in our ‘relationship.’” 

Scott shrugs. “I guess I just kinda assumed that’s where we would be at, considering we’ve said it to each other since we were four.”

He’s lying. Not about assuming that detail of their fake relationship, it really never did occur to him that they might not have been at an in love stage yet; it seemed so obvious to him that they would be. But in truth, the plan hadn’t even been on his mind when he said it.

Stiles looks at him for a moment. Something flickers in his expression but Scott’s senses feel numb as well, and he can’t bring himself to bother reading into what Stiles is working through in his mind, so he’ll leave it for later.

Then Stiles’s mouth turns up in a lopsided smile, and he says, “Yeah, that—totally, that makes sense. And for the record, I think we would have been at that stage about two weeks into our relationship, because in this alternate universe where we’re together, I would definitely have fallen hard for you.”

“Yeah.” It’s a little easier to smile, watching Stiles as he reaches back around him to set the cloth to the side of the sink. “I totally agree.”

“Not that we’re going to need anything that we talked about now,” Stiles points out, but his voice turns gentle as he does, careful not to tiptoe back onto the why. “It’s a shame. I would have been an excellent fake boyfriend.”

Scott chuckles softly and says, “I’m sure you would’ve.”

And honestly, for a fleeting second, he considers just telling him now. Everything’s being brought out into the open tonight, why not leave behind one more secret? He goes over exactly how he’d tell him. In the second that he’s got Stiles’ gaze focused on him with that caring smile, he can imagine a hopeful response. 

But then his dad’s face pops back into his mind, and the ways in which it could go well are replaced by all the ways in which it might not. And it makes him feel sick to his stomach. He can’t stand another heartbreak tonight, and not when Stiles already feels so bad for him. Losing him would be too much. 

The universe decides to cut him some slack and save him from himself in the form of a knock at the door. Opportunity fizzles out, and Scott clears his throat, looking away as Stiles blinks himself out of his own strange daze. 

“Hey, can I come in?” It’s his mom. 

Stiles steps back, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eye to finally try and clear away the evidence of his own tears. 

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Scott says to her.

She enters, glancing at the two of them with a gentle expression that only softens further when she sees them both wiping their eyes. Scott catches the sound of everyone else talking quietly in the other room. Worried whispers. 

“How’re you feeling?” his mom asks.

“Uh…” Scott looks down, swallowing. He tries for a smile and manages to hold a small one in place. “Not great, but I’ll be okay. Just… tired.”

His mom nods, resting a hand on his shoulder. She strokes her thumb across his cheek with a small smile in return, and says, “Do you want to go home? Get some sleep?”

The thought of his bed is definitely an appealing one. But he doesn’t want to end the night just yet, not like that. He’d rather remember today as a happy one. 

“No, I want to stay,” he says. 

She gives him a look, asking if he’s sure. His silent answer must be conveyed well enough for her to be reassured that he’ll be okay. She gives him another smile then nods. 

“Okay. Well, as long as you’re sure,” she says. “I’m gonna go back out. See if there’s any of that kugel left.” She looks at Stiles. “For someone who says they don’t like broccoli, your dad has eaten most of it already.”

“Oh yeah, he likes to protest my attempts to lengthen his life but he’ll eat pretty much anything I make for him anyway.” Stiles raises his eyebrows and points a thumb at the door. “And kugel is pretty high on the list of things he’s actually liked, so I would hurry.”

She chuckles, and agrees. Pressing a kiss to Scott’s forehead, she leaves them in the bathroom with the promise that they’ll be right behind her in a minute. 

“Hey,” Stiles says, fiddling with one of his knuckles, “do you wanna stay over tonight? I mean, we’re going to be spending tomorrow together anyway, you, your mom, me, and my dad.”

“Yeah,” Scott says without hesitation. “Yeah, that would be great. It’s probably a good thing that we brought the presents with us, just in case.”

“It’s fate,” Stiles jokes. 

He then rolls his eyes and holds a hand out to him. Scott accepts it, lacing their fingers, and bringing their clasped hands up to press his lips to Stiles’ knuckles. They walk out of the bathroom and rejoin everyone else in the living room. 

Scott definitely doesn’t miss the worried glances that get thrown his way. But they all settle back into the way they had been before, and a little bit of the tightness eases from Scott’s chest. Watching all of his friends talk away to each other, just being surrounded by them all. He can’t describe the feeling. 

He looks up when Isaac sits down next to him on the couch. 

“I saw you sitting here, quietly, as if I can’t see you devouring the last of the…” Isaac stares at the plate on the arm of the couch for a good few seconds, his brow furrowing, “...whatever those are called.”

“Latkes,” Scott tells him. “With applesauce.”

“Well, they’re delicious, and I just can’t let you get away with eating all of them,” Isaac says with a mock firmness to his voice. 

Scott smiles. He rolls his eyes but plays along. Picking up one of the latkes, he dips it in the tub of applesauce then holds it out to Isaac. He watches him accept it and take a bite with a touch of amusement. And affectionate concern. 

“I’m okay, you know,” Scott tells him.

“I’m aware,” Isaac replies without missing a beat, swallowing. He looks at him. “I’m also aware that the okay only goes so deep. But you’re always okay, aren’t you? It’s easier.”

Scott takes the inside of his cheek gently between his teeth. His finger taps the edge of the plate, then stops, tracing the outline of it instead as he looks down. 

“I guess it is,” he agrees, then makes himself lift his eyes back to him, finding him just watching him with a dark understanding clouding his expression. “I’m sorry, by the way. About my dad, at dinner… that couldn’t have… I just mean…”

It was hard not to notice the scent of anxiety in the air when his dad started. Even harder to let the flinches slip his attention. Guilt stirs in him just remembering the look on Isaac’s face, and his mom’s, and Stiles’ dad. 

“Yeah, I think everyone got a bit of a scare,” Isaac says quietly, to put it mildly. He starts to shake his head, frowning. “But you have nothing to apologize for.”

“He was only here because of me,” Scott argues gently. “And none of it would have happened if I had just answered his question when he asked.”

“I’m pretty sure that telling him right then that you’re gay wouldn’t have prevented him from blowing up or deescelated that situation.” 

Scott shakes his head. “No, I mean that I should have just lied. Told him that I liked a girl, or that I’m too focused on college to worry about that right now, anything—”

“Anything other than the truth?” Mason finishes for him. 

Scott finds him leaning against the back of the couch. He’s looking at him the same way as Isaac. Understanding that darkens the usual light in their eyes, makes the edges of his apologetic smile a little tighter around the edges. 

“If it would’ve kept everyone happy, then… yeah,” Scott says. 

“I get that,” Mason says, nodding. “I really do. Not wanting to be the reason that people are upset, or—or the reason that things can’t ever really feel the same. But it wouldn’t have made you feel better.”

“Maybe not,” Scott agrees. “But I’m not feeling too great right now anyway. The truth… the truth only hurt everyone. It didn’t make anything better.”

“I know. But it doesn’t feel like that forever. At some point, maybe soon, maybe longer, but eventually… that weight, that’s sitting on your heart right now? It gets lighter, less noticeable. And the hollow kind of hole that’s been dug in your stomach?” Mason gives him another smile, a little wider, a little brighter. “It starts to fill back up, bit by bit.”

Scott lets it sink in, processing what he’s saying. What Isaac said. 

“How long did it take you to start feeling like that?” he asks Mason.

Taking on a thoughtful look, Mason sighs. “Well, I came out to my family four years ago. It’s… I’m still getting there.” He nods. “It still hurts from time to time, remembering how my mom reacted. She, uh… thought she could fix things between us by buying me a car for my birthday?”

He laughs, shaking his head as Scott and Isaac join him. It trails off as he bites his lip.

“But… knowing that she’s never going to fully accept who I am… I can’t tell you that that ever really stops hurting. But at this point, I can handle it better,” he says confidently. “Because I knew how much my dad and my sister loved me, and I had Liam. And now I have all of my friends, too.”

Scott smiles. The pack—they’re the family that he chose to surround himself with either by strange circumstances or sheer luck. And he believes Mason when he says that it’ll get easier, because just being around all of them right now makes the whole thing seem less world-crushing. 

“Also, on a completely unrelated note, I heard the word Latkes?” Mason says, pointing at the plate now with curious, pleading eyes. 

Laughing, Scott gestures at the plate. “Go ahead.”

Mason gratefully swipes one, dipping it in the applesauce. Isaac also reaches over for another. Scott takes one for himself, shaking his head fondly at them with a smile that actually almost stretches all the way.

He glances around the room and happens to catch his mom’s eyes. Even from here, he can still see the concern for him lining her forehead. But just knowing she’s here starts to fill up that pit in his stomach with a familiar warmth. He smiles at her, and she smiles back, with so much love that he can’t imagine feeling like anything else really matters. She’s the one who’s always been there. All the family he needs is right here. 


	7. Chapter 7

For a moment, when Stiles wakes up the next morning, he's still in a state of dreamland. Trying to hold on to the last few snippets of his dream that are already starting to disappear from his mind. It was one of the few pleasant sleeps he’s had, leaving him warm and fuzzy instead of cold and shivering in his own sweat. It’s a shame to let it leave. 

Then he remembers. He forces his eyes open, blinks a few times and nearly retreats back into the darkness beneath his eyelids, but then manages to successfully keep them open. The sun hasn’t risen yet. The whole room is pretty much in darkness, save for the lamp on his bedside table. It became a habit to leave it on when he went to sleep over the past few months. Makes the nightmares a little less common. 

Soft snoring is coming from behind him. Stiles is as careful as possible when rolling himself over, pausing with a grimace when a spring in the bed squeaks, then proceeds to turn over. Scott’s eyes are, fortunately, still closed. 

He made sure that Scott fell asleep first last night. It didn’t take long, after everything that happened. He was so exhausted when they got to bed that he just kinda lay down and fell asleep to the TV playing away quietly within minutes. 

Stiles reaches out without too much thought. His fingers graze Scott’s collarbone, caressing the dip in his skin with a touch like a kiss, feather-light and barely-there. He remembers the first time he did this with real intent. 

Not wanting to wake Scott, he had just watched him. Reached out. They had been about twelve. Before, all their touches were so casual and instinctive, but that time, Stiles had been practically in awe of Scott. It was the start of his crush, that’s for sure. He just remembers his fingertips brushing along his collarbone, and then immediately pulling back, how scared he had been of waking him up. 

But he hadn’t needed to worry. Scott had smiled as soon as he pulled back and started giggling. Turns out, Stiles hadn’t woken up first. He had blushed bright red, from his cheeks, down his neck, to his chest. But Scott didn’t care. He took Stiles’ hand and played with his fingers while he talked, and when Stiles had playfully poked at his collarbone when teasing him about something, Scott laughed. From there, this kind of thing just became normal for th—

Stiles pauses. His eyes narrow. He’s considering poking Scott’s nose, very lightly, just to see, when Scott’s eyes flick open. Stiles curses, startled by the sudden bright red glow instead of the soft brown he was expecting, and shoves his shoulder. 

“Fucking—Do not do that! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!” Stiles heaves out a deep breath as Scott laughs. “I thought you were asleep! God, you— _ suck _ .”

“I’m sorry!” Scott says, not looking at all sorry. The continued laughter doesn’t make it more convincing. “I’m sorry, really, I just—I had to!”

Stiles glares, but it’s hard to keep it up when Scott presses his face into his shoulder. His arm’s still around him as Scott tries to get out an apology that isn’t interrupted by laughter, and it’s just  _ too much. _ Stiles has to bite back a smile, which only turns out semi-successful.

When Scott’s finally breathing normally again, he looks up with a sheepish grin. Stiles rolls his eyes at him but he can’t resist the puppy-dog look. It’s always been near-impossible. 

“You still suck,” Stiles tells him. “Don’t think you can make up for it by being cute. I won’t let you pick the movie when my dad asks later. And then you’ll have to sit through two hours of Die Hard. Or Shrek."

Scott’s biting his lip, still grinning at the corners, his eyes crinkling. “You think I’m cute?”

Stiles blinks. Heat floods his cheeks but all he can do is stare at Scott, mouth open in disbelief. “That’s what you got from that? No complaints about Die Hard? Just—just the part where I think you’re cute? Really, that’s it?”

“So, you do?” 

“Oh, my god. Yes, okay. I think you’re very cute. Downright adorable.”

“Okay, now I think you’re mocking me.”

Stiles snorts at Scott’s teasing but he can’t quite stop himself from latching onto his gaze, his smile letting out a glimmer of his sincerity as he says, “I would never. Well, most of the time. But this time, I swear, I may as well be a boy scout. You are incredibly cute. And attractive. Very good-looking. Come on, you’re the  _ hot girl _ , you know this already.”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees quietly, drawing the word out with a small shrug and a smile so mischievous that Stiles is reminded he can be even more devious than him. “But it’s nice to hear you say it, you know?”

It surprises Stiles, the honest admission, even if it is hidden beneath their usual back-and-forth. Something has been different lately, he’s noticed it more and more as the week has gone on. At first, he assumed it was just the pressure and tension of his dad being in town and their plan, but even now, there’s something… not off, but  _ different _ . 

He considers that it might just be because of everything that happened last night, too. Except it just doesn’t feel like that’s the problem—he’s not great at sensing emotions and chemosignals and whatever, but he’s sure that it’s something else, something about Scott, and involving himself, but he doesn’t know what it is or where he would even start to try and deduce the issue. Or if it’s an  _ issue _ at all. 

“Then I will make sure to tell you on a daily basis,” Stiles jokes. He reaches up, brushing the back of his knuckles along Scott’s cheek. “You are beautiful, Scotty.”

Scott’s grin flickers. A shadow passes through his widened eyes, as quick as a cloud rolling overhead. It makes it hard to catch the outline of it but Stiles thinks he can make out a vague shape well enough to get an idea of it. 

He swallows, holding Scott’s gaze and, for once, lets the humour fall. Honestly, it kind of feels like he’s lowering the shields, or opening the gates, or letting down the drawbridge. 

All to say that it leaves him feeling more than a little vulnerable to be here, the back of his hand resting against Scott’s skin, looking at him the way he is without his usual defence of jokes and sarcasm to fall back on. Because it means letting everything that was hiding behind it out.

“Really…” Stiles’ voice is a soft murmur, his eyes following the path that he traces along Scott’s cheek with the tips of his fingers, avoiding Scott’s gaze which is still focused on him, maybe, “... really… beautiful.”

Scott huffs out a laugh, but it fades quickly and sounds almost forced. There’s a nervousness to it. As if part of him thinks that Stiles is joking. 

“What about with my eyes, and… fangs, and the rest?” Scott quietly asks, his heart beating against Stiles’ fingers on his neck, trying to flee his chest. As if he doubts that Stiles could find that part of him as beautiful as this one. 

But that thought is ridiculous to Stiles.

He shakes his head and says, “All of it, all of you,” because how could he look at anything or anyone as kind and scarred and loving and brave as Scott McCall and not find every part of him utterly beautiful? He can’t, because there is nothing and no one else like him. 

His fingers falter. Wide-eyed, he finally meets Scott’s surprised and curious gaze, and he allows him to see behind the lowered shields, gates, and drawbridge. And in that glimpse of a second, the waves come crashing back down on Stiles, drenching him from head to toe in the realization that he had been trying to keep at bay for five years.

No fault or flaw is anything but beautiful when you love someone because of them. 

Even the side of him that Scott himself looks at as a flaw, a blemish upon his human self. When he sees glowing eyes, and fangs, and claws, he thinks about the danger and the what if’s of becoming more beast than human like Peter. 

But Stiles also sees parts of Scott that he was already familiar with be heightened—his ability to care so deeply, to a point where he would endanger himself for everyone else; his unwavering loyalty that draws even the lone wolf to his leadership; his unbelievable strength and will to keep fighting despite every punch that life lands on him. 

And, he realizes, even the part of Scott that remains so incredibly human and yet feels just as unloveable as the wolf inside of him. After last night, it’s easy to guess why he may not be seeing that part as all too beautiful right now. 

“All of you,” Stiles repeats firmly, sincerely, looking him in his eyes to make sure he  _ knows _ . 

“Stiles...” Scott says quietly. 

“Hmm?” Stiles hums questioningly, making sure to keep his fingers moving along Scott’s skin, down his neck, tracing the line of his collarbone, along his jaw. 

“There’s something I need to tell you.” The tone of Scott’s voice is familiar. The anxiety, the uncertainty, the worry. They’ve been here before, five years ago.

Stiles nods, even as his brows scrunch together. He doesn’t speak, just lets Scott know that he can go ahead. His heart’s beating a little harder all of a sudden, but he doesn’t look away.

“I…” Scott hesitates. He swallows, trying to find the right words. Stiles swears, without a doubt, that Scott’s eyes slip from his fixed gaze. Down from Stiles’ own eyes, past his nose, flicking to his lips. 

And he hears and feels his gentle inhale, his heartbeat uneven beneath Stiles’ fingers on his chest. His mind is already filling in the blank spaces that Scott is still trying to fill. He can see it when Scott lifts his eyes back up to meet his curious, encouraging stare and he’s met with something more familiar than he was expecting. 

“I was actually kind of looking forward to it,” Scott admits with a small smile, a whisper into the darkness. “The plan. Not because of… you know, but the rest of it. Pretending to be together.”

“Well, hey, there’s nothing stopping us from doing it anyway,” Stiles says, then regrets the joking tone. He doesn’t want this to just be dropped with a laugh and become another of the many conversations he’s stored in the back of his mind that could have been something but maybe weren’t anything. 

Scott gives him a strange look—calculating, thoughtful. His smile twitches up a little more.

“But there would be no point to it,” he says, but the way that he does is begging Stiles to challenge him. Be his usual self and find a loophole, roundabout way for him to be wrong. 

Not one to let Scott down if he can help it, Stiles is already racking his mind. He’s really trying, but he can’t think of a single thing that isn’t going to come out in a way that he won’t be able to brush it back under the rug. 

The longer that Scott watches him like that, he realizes, maybe that’s the point. The whole reason for the plan in the first place was proof. To make sure it was believable. Scott is just silently asking for the same. 

"Yeah, yeah, I guess you're right," Stiles says, and he can practically see the hope dull in Scott's eyes. "There's no point in pretending.”

The way he says it is enough for Scott to understand what he’s trying to say. 

“No,” Scott says quietly, his voice lowering to a murmur. “Pretending hasn’t worked out so well. I guess, maybe… we should stop.”

Stiles’ heart leaps into his throat. He knows where they’re building to, is all too aware of what they’re doing. What they’re admitting underneath their attempts to not outright say it because they’re both helpless right now without anything else to hide behind. 

With a shaky inhale, he asks, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Scott lets a beat pass, but then he’s shaking his head, and Stiles is almost relieved. Because not taking another step is safe. It means that whatever has just come to the surface, he’ll easily be allowed to just push back behind the gates. But it would also mean ignoring the way that Scott is looking at him, and the fact that he wants to drop an act that Stiles didn’t even realize he was putting on in the first place. It’s not fair to ask him to keep on pretending just because he feels safer that way.

“I honestly don’t know anymore,” Scott mumbles. He looks into Stiles’ eyes, holds his stare right there. “But I want to know. Don’t you?”

And Stiles crumbles at those two words. That’s all he’s wanted to know since he was thirteen. So, of course he doesn’t look for an escape route like his anxiety regularly forces him to do. Of course, when he notices Scott’s eyes flicking down, then back up questioningly, his breath catches. Of course he doesn’t stop Scott from leaning in, and he doesn’t stop himself from kissing him back. 

He already knows what it feels like to kiss Scott. It hasn’t fully left his mind since that night. But replaying it in his head was not doing justice to how it left his heart imprinted with the shape of his ribs, or the way that his insides become a knot so tight a sailor wouldn’t be able to undo them. 

Scott’s kissing him so softly, yet passionately, like he’s wanted this for as long as Stiles has. It nearly kills Stiles to pull away but he forces himself to do it anyway. It kills him a little more when Scott chases after his lips.

“Scotty,” he murmurs, trying to speak, but his lips brush Scott’s and he can’t help but kiss him again, just for a second. “I don’t think we should… not right now, I mean, it just… I don’t want you to regret it, you know?”

Brows furrowing, Scott asks, “Why would I?”

“It’s just… the timing…” Stiles tries, but he grimaces at his choice of wording. Trying not to mention the reason is hard when trying to explain the reason. “I just don’t want you to be jumping into something… doing something you may not actually want to do to ignore… other things.”

It’s easy for Scott to catch on now. He stops pressing forward to be able to look properly at Stiles. It makes Stiles unnerved and he wants to move but he keeps himself still aside from his fingers straying to trace Scott’s collarbone again.

“I’m—I’m not doing that,” Scott says softly, shaking his head. “Stiles, what I wanted to tell you is that… I wanted to say—”

But he doesn’t get to finish. The gentle knock at Stiles’ door makes sure of that. 

“Tell me later?” Stiles suggests.

A small smile tugs the corners of Scott’s mouth. He nods and says, “Yeah. Sure.”

Stiles hesitates. He shouldn’t, he knows that, just wait for later and then they can figure out what they’re doing, but Scott’s smile and his gaze and the fact that he could feel his lips just a few seconds ago makes it impossible. 

Surging forward, he gives Scott one last quick kiss, intending to immediately pull back. It just takes a few beats longer for him to remember that when Scott kisses him back without any hesitation. When they break apart at the second knock, Scott’s smiling and biting his lip.

“Come in,” Stiles calls out.

The door opens and Scott’s mom steps in. She’s still in her pyjamas, her hair loosely tied back. It was a good thing that she had been prepared to stay over last night; it tends to happen every Christmas, the only change is whose house they’re at when night comes.

She smiles at the two of them and says, “Good morning. I was just checking if the two of you were awake yet. Your dad and I are in the living room if you feel like joining us.”

Stiles glances at Scott, who nods, then looks back at Melissa. “Yeah, of course.”

He pushes back the covers and climbs out of the bed, Scott following as Melissa leaves back to the living room. Stiles pauses long enough for Scott to be able to find a top to pull on before they traipse after her. 

Questions of what Scott was going to say fade into the background, forgotten for now. Well, definitely not forgotten, because Stiles can practically still feel Scott’s lips, and his chest pulls tight and flutters when he looks at him and remembers. But he doesn’t let himself agonize over it either. Scott doesn’t seem to be, and honestly, Stiles isn’t too desperate to know right now.

They flop down onto the floor, laying down the blanket that Stiles dragged from his bed beneath them. Stiles swipes the remote from the arm of the couch before Melissa or his dad can protest. 

“Good morning to you, too,” his dad says, sarcastically, but he allows him to switch the channel from the music one that it had been left idle on. “You both sleep well?”

“Yep,” Stiles says, but he throws a side-glance at Scott, who he knows the question was aimed at. 

It’s not that everyone’s expecting him to break or anything. It’s just that none of them have seen him the way he was last night in a long while. Everything that they’ve gone through over the last year or so has had an affect, of course, but it’s more like it hardened Scott in a way, at least to his own feelings. But last night… that hardened shell crumbled to dust, and it was terrifying.

Scott knows it, too. Knows that they’re still worried, of course they are, how could they not be? But he gives Stiles’ dad a reassuring smile and nod. 

“Yeah, didn’t wake up once,” Scott says, a casual tone and shrug. Stiles watches him carefully. Maybe he really is okay. “I still have a bit of a headache, but… other than that, yeah. Thanks for letting us stay, by the way.”

Stiles’ dad scoffs at that, waving him off with a shared look at Melissa. “Nonsense. We’ve been doing this since you and Stiles met, this year wasn’t gonna be any different. Besides, I need the extra people here or I might just go crazy.”

“Right back at you,” Stiles says dryly. 

His dad rolls his eyes. Stiles groans when he reaches down and wraps an arm around his neck in a half bear hug. Glaring at Scott and Melissa for both laughing is fairly difficult when half-heartedly trying to escape his dad’s headlock of a hug. 

“All right, all right, I feel the love!” Stiles exclaims, his own voice trailing into laughter as his dad loosens up with a deep rumble, patting his shoulder. “Jeez, I know they say ‘kill ‘em with kindness’ but they don’t mean it literally, you know.”

“Well, we’re happy to be here, as always,” Melissa says, redirecting back to the conversation. 

She places a hand on his dad’s arm with a kind look as she does, and Stiles knows they both appreciate it. The two of them being here, carrying on their little tradition. 

“Now, who wants breakfast?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Me, definitely.”

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


The whole day is quiet. Well, as quiet as usual for them anyway. Just the four of them, watching movies (and at one point, playing Monopoly because Stiles insisted that he wins every time, only to discover that he, in fact, does not. Then Battleship, because Scott was certain he wins every time at  _ that _ which he, in fact, does). 

It’s exactly like every other year, laughing over a movie they’ve watched a million times (Shrek) while eating dinner, then groaning over someone else’s movie choice, only to actually enjoy it. They rarely leave the living room the whole day. The sun rises and sets within hours. Scott and Stiles’ phones are back in Stiles’ room and on silent, and neither Stiles’ dad nor Scott’s mom get called in on emergency at work. They’re free for this one day. It’s the first time in a year that everything has actually felt normal. He misses this, the familiarity of it all. 

He lifts his head from Stiles’ shoulder when he pokes his knee, giving him a silently curious look. They’re still curled up on the floor, with an extra blanket over them now as the cold seeps into the house. At some point, Scott’s head started to feel a little heavy and Stiles had subtly readjusted their positions to accommodate and let him lean against him like they usually do. 

In truth, he had a moment of hesitation before complying. What with the conversation they had this morning, and the kiss. God, he can’t believe he did that. He’s glad he did, really happy about it, but he can’t believe that he just… went for it like that, with all the risks and strings still attached. 

And he still hasn’t even actually told Stiles about his feelings for him. Though, he’s thinking it’s probably a lot more obvious now. He’s just waiting for a better time for them to talk about it, waiting for Stiles to approach the subject, maybe. 

For a second, he thinks that that’s what this is and he’s all too aware of their parents in the room, occupying the couch with their own blankets, both focused on the TV as they drink their cups of coffee that Scott and Stiles were refused. 

But Stiles holds out a packet to him and quietly asks, “Chocolate orange? I snuck the bag out of the cupboard when they weren’t looking.”

Scott snickers under his breath and quickly takes one, popping it in his mouth before they’re caught. He startles when he bites into it and popping candy immediately explodes against the roof of his mouth and his tongue. 

It must show on his face, or Stiles must be able to hear the noisy candy as well, as he laughs under his breath. Scott nudges him to shut him up, grinning. 

A phone goes off and that quickly quietens them both down. They look over at Scott’s mom as she turns her phone on to look at the screen, then curses under her breath.

“Your abuela,” she tells Scott. “I forgot.”

Admittedly, so did Scott. For his entire life, she’s either visited around this time of the year along with his aunt or she’s called them. 

Answering the phone, his mom quickly adopts a smile and says, “Hi, Mamá.”

Scott prepares to have the phone handed to him, momentarily panicking thinking he’s not going to remember a word of Spanish and completely miss everything his abuela says to him. But when she nods at him and passes the phone over, his panic settles back down.

His abuela immediately starts cooing over how different his voice apparently sounds, and goes on about how tall he must be now. There’s something about hearing her voice that just eases some of the tightness in his chest.

He pauses at her reply. His eyebrows raise a little and he stutters over his response.

“Do—do I have a boyfriend yet?” He laughs nervously as he can’t help but throw Stiles a glance. 

Stiles’ eyes widen. But then he’s nodding vigorously and poking Scott’s arm, mouthing, “Do you? Are you saying yes??” at him. Scott is beyond surprised, but his abuela’s waiting for an answer and Stiles looks so eager, and he just blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Uh, yeah,” he quickly says. “Yeah, I do. His na—?”

“Me,” Stiles whispers, still latched onto his arm. “Is it me?”

Scott shoots him a glare but its effect is ruined by him failing to fight off a grin as he half-heartedly tries to shake him off. 

“You remember Stiles, right?” he asks, and his abuela’s instant excited babbling starts. “Yeah—yes, Abuela—you saw this coming? That’s… not the first time I’ve heard that.”

He shares a look with Stiles, finding him smiling, a real, secretive smile. Scott doesn’t fully know what it means and he can’t think straight enough to try and work it out right now. 

His mom and Stiles’ dad snicker, but when Scott and Stiles look over at them, they say nothing, playing ever the innocent. Stiles’ eyes narrow and Scott’s sure he can guess what they’re both laughing about. But he can’t say anything—not just because he’s still on the phone, but because there’s a knock at the front door before he can speak. 

Scott’s heart jumps without his permission. It’s no wonder, after the surprise of last night, but he assures himself that it’s probably just Parrish, come to see the Sheriff, or maybe one of their friends forgot something? He tries to focus on what his abuela’s saying as his eyes track his mom’s movements to the front door. 

She peers behind the curtain before answering. Scott doesn’t manage to get a look at her expression. His heart leaps into his throat and tries to choke him as she opens the front door. 

“No,” his mom says before the person in front of her can even speak, her voice low and an attempt at being quiet—an impossible feat when there’s a werewolf in the house. “You are not coming in here, and you are definitely not seeing him if that’s what you had in mind. You can turn around and leave right now.”

The sinking feeling sets in, so heavy in his gut that he would think he had a literal anchor inside of him. He’s trying to listen and respond to his abuela talking about his tía, something about his cousin, but it’s futile. No amount of distraction keeps him from catching his dad’s voice. 

“Please,” he’s saying to his mom. “Melissa, I—hear me out, I’m begging you. Yesterday, it wasn’t—I didn’t mean for things to go down that way, I—”

“Maybe not, but it did,” his mom cuts him off sharply, still at least trying to keep their conversation beyond heightened hearing. Scott appreciates the effort. “You said what you said. And so did Scott. That’s it, end of discussion. Now, go home. And do us a favour: stay there this time.”

“Hold on, Abuela, I’m really sorry, just—give me a second,” Scott says.

“Melissa, please,” his dad insists. “Just let me talk to him. I—I know he’s here, just let me explain. I wasn’t thinking when I—”

“What? When you told my son that it would have been better if he had never been born?” his mom harshly asks. 

Scott internally winces. Just hearing it again threatens to tear off the delicate bandaging wrapped around his heart and let it crumble back into a million little shards to fill the hole still left in his chest. 

He hears his dad’s pause of surprise, having not expected her to know that. Then his quiet inhale, before quietly saying, “Our son, Melissa. He’s mine, too.”

Scott scoffs to himself, unable to help it.  _ You’re a disappointment to my name _ , his dad had practically spat at him.  _ From this point on, I don’t have a child _ _at all_.

“But only when you decide, right?” his mom replies, her voice turning cold as steel. “Only when you can be bothered with him or want to make yourself feel like a better father? Well, newsflash for you, but you were never a father to him, and at this point, you never will be. Scott is my son. Mine. You got that?”

His dad’s quiet, no response. Scott thinks he’s holding his own breath. It doesn’t register with him that he’s passed the phone over to Stiles, but faintly acknowledges it being slipped out of his hand as Scott gets up and moves towards the door. 

“Hey, Mrs Del Gado,” Stiles quietly says. “It’s Stiles. Scott’ll be back soon, it’s just, um… some stuff’s going on with his dad right now, so—yeah, yeah, his dad’s here.”

Scott leans against the wall, looking out into the hallway at his mom’s back. He can only see the tiniest glimpse of his dad through the door. 

“Because I was the one who has been here for the last eighteen years of his life,” she continues. “I’m the one who promised to protect him—I haven’t exactly been able to do that as much as I’d like, but I promise you now that I am going to protect him from you. So, if Scott doesn’t want to see you again—and I wouldn’t blame him—then you’re not seeing him.”

Scott waits a moment to hear what his dad is going to say. His stomach is practically turning itself upside down in anticipation, leaving him nauseous.

“Then at least tell him that I’m not leaving until January first, all right? Can you do that?”

“Do you honestly think that there’s anything you can say that’ll make what you did yesterday better?” His mom shakes her head. “Scott has given you chance after chance since the day he was born, and you have blown every single one of them. But yesterday? You confirmed every worst fear he’s ever had about you, and about himself. 

Now, I know that it’s not the last time I’m going to see him like that. There are going to be plenty more times in the future where he’s going to get his heart broken, and I’ll be there for him when or if he needs me. But let me get one thing straight with you: I am never going to let his father be the one to do it again.”

“Melissa, I—”

“What? No, seriously, Rafael, what excuse do you have this time? You were drunk? I’d believe that, but I know that you weren’t. You never needed the alcohol to be a dick.”

“Now that’s not fair—”

“No, what’s not fair is that you continue to force yourself into our lives, over and over again, break everything in sight, and then leave us to pick up the pieces. I’m done. If Scott, by some miracle, wants to talk to you again, he’ll know where to find you. But I want nothing more to do with you. And Scott deserves so much more than you—he  _ has _ so much more. I’m just sorry that I ever let you be in his life in the first place.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else, plead some more, try and get a foot in the door even. She just closes the door on him. Both she and Scott let a beat pass until the muffled footsteps growing fainter and fainter are completely gone. 

Breathing out a sigh, his mom’s shoulders drop. It’s like her entire body just deflates with her hand still on the front door as if scared to let go of it. Scott’s heart writhes beneath the bandage getting twisted up. 

“Mom…” he says quietly, afraid to break the silence that’s fallen throughout the house. Afraid to see his mom so shattered and weary. Hearing his own voice, he feels smaller, like he’s looking up at her through the eyes of his seven-year-old self. 

His mom turns to him in surprise. She hadn’t realized he was there. That he had been listening. The surprise creases out into concern and no matter how much she tries to keep it hidden from him, he sees the guilt in the depths of her gaze, and most of all, the exhaustion. Trying to keep it all together, just like Scott. Just like she’s been doing for his entire life. 

“I didn’t know if you’d want—” she starts, then stops abruptly when Scott walks forward and hugs her. 

He doesn’t say anything. He just wraps his arms around her. His mom doesn’t question it. She sinks into the hug and she lets him be the one who’s there for her this time, so he can let her not have to be the one who holds it together all the time. 

“Thank you,” he softly says to her. “For everything. You’re all I’ve ever needed.”

His mom gives a gentle laugh but Scott can hear the disguise of the shake in her voice, the wobble in her voice as she speaks into his shoulder. “I love you, sweetie, you know that.”

“I know,” Scott says, nodding, hugging her a little tighter as her hands grip his shirt a little tighter. “I love you, Mom. Okay? And I wouldn’t have our family any other way, you know that, right? This—this is all I want.”

His mom nods back, not trusting herself to speak this time. Scott holds on for another few moments, giving her a chance to quietly clear her throat, swallow down the lump that he knows will be there, use the back of her sleeve to wipe the corners of her eyes. It also gives his own eyes a chance to stop stinging. 

She pulls back first and Scott’s heart gives another twist at the light red rims around her eyes. Her smile warms it, though, as small as it is, it’s sincere. Scott smiles back, then they move back into the living room to rejoin Stiles and his dad. 

“Is your abuela still on the phone?” his mom asks him quietly, realizing he’s no longer got it as she swipes her sleeve along her eye and tucks some loose curls away.

Scott looks over at Stiles questioningly and is met with the phone and a confirmative nod. 

“I told her he was here, and she wants to talk to you,” Stiles tells Scott’s mom as he passes the phone back to her with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure what to say.”

“It’s okay,” she assures him, as Scott sinks back down beside him on the floor.

Stiles immediately opens an arm to him. Scott takes the invitation gratefully and shifts himself over to let Stiles wrap him in a one-armed hug. He catches Stiles’ dad’s eyes and manages a small, reassuring smile. It doesn’t ease the worry lining the outsides of his eyes or his forehead, but it at least seems to bring him some comfort that they’re okay. 

“Sorry, Mamá, I had to deal with something,” his mom is saying into the phone, remaining standing but taking small, slow steps back and forth. She pauses as his abuela responds. “Yeah. Si, Mamá, he was here—No, no, I didn’t let him in. We’re at Noah’s house, he just showed up.”

She throws a look at Stiles’ dad as his abuela speaks again, in a tone that Scott has never made himself too acquainted with and never wants to. It’s not aimed at his mom, though, but his dad. 

“I—I know,” she says, trying to interject in between his abuela’s ranting and cursing. Then she goes still, eyes wide. “Wai—Mamá, no. Really, you don’t have to. It’s fi—... are you sure?”

Stiles and his dad are both shooting confused, questioning looks at Scott now, as the only one actually able to hear the other side of the conversation. He just shakes his head, sitting up a little straighter with a flip of real excitement. 

“Si, of course you can, Mamá. Tomorrow? Okay.”

“Tomorrow?” Stiles mouths. 

But Scott still doesn’t answer as his mom starts saying goodbye to his abuela. As soon as she ends the call and lowers the phone, Scott’s drawing her attention to him, a smile already stretching across his face.

“Abuela’s really coming here?” he asks her, and answers the two questioning gazes at the same time. 

His mom nods with a growing smile as well. It’s been two years since he last saw his abuela, what with her living all the way down in Zacatecas. Scott’s always adored her visits, or when they’ve visited her. 

“She said she’s been planning on coming up for the last few months, and was going to surprise us tomorrow,” his mom explains to Stiles’ dad. “Apparently, she’s been considering moving her for a while now. After all, she has her citizenship and her green card, so all that was really stopping her was that she liked living in Zacatecas. But she said she’d rather be here with us.”

“That’s great!” Stiles’ dad says, grinning as she takes a seat on the couch beside him. He places a hand on top of hers and squeezes gently, a sincere gleam in his eyes that she seems to understand.

“Aw man, I haven’t seen Granny Gado in years,” Stiles says, excitement entering his voice as well now. “I can’t wait, she’s—oh no.  _ Oh _ , oh—no, no, Scotty, we got a problem.”

Scott’s eyebrows start to furrow and he’s about to question what Stiles is talking about—how could they have another problem, this is a good thing—when Stiles raises his eyebrows at him and answers with three words that Scott never thought would make his stomach sink so quickly. 

“I’m your boyfriend.” 

Still confused, and a little thrown by the bluntness, Scott starts to shake his head. Then it hits him, the realization kicking him in the chest.

“Oh,” he says, and Stiles nods vigorously. “Oh, I told her that we’re together! Why did you tell me to do that? God—why did I listen to you?” 

“Because you’re an idiot! We’re both idiots,” Stiles declares. 

Scott groans, closing his eyes and sinking down, wishing the floor would swallow him whole. Their parents are laughing at their predicament, because of course this is hilarious to them. 

“Well,” Stiles says, trying for an optimistic outlook, “at least now we have that chance to go through with the whole fake relationship thing, right?”

Scott gives him a look that isn’t quite a glare but it’s as close as it’s going to get. Then he rolls his eyes and says, "Yeah, true, but that also means lying to my abuela."

He can practically see the blood drain from Stiles' face. "Oh, we are so dead."

They're both laughing though, joining their parents in seeing the amusement in their situation. They wanted to fake a relationship, and now they've been given the opportunity. One that he can't take back without telling his abuela that it was all fake. Somehow that thought is way scarier than going through with pretending to date Stiles. 

Who knows, after their conversation this morning that he's trying not to think too much about, maybe this could be good. In what way, he isn't sure right now, but he's hoping he'll figure it out soon. 


	8. Chapter 8

The days leading up to New Year’s Eve are a little more full of chaos than either Scott or Stiles is used to. With Scott’s grandmother in town, with the additional arrival of his auntie, uncle, and his two cousins, who came along last minute, Scott’s house has been… busier than usual. The only other times Stiles has seen so many people there is when a pack meeting is taking place. Thankfully, the atmosphere has been a lot more joyful than it was for any of those. 

Putting their plan into action has certainly added to the chaos, though surprisingly in only minimal ways. Of course, they had to play it up on the first day, because as soon as Scott’s grandmother saw them waiting to greet her, she was cooing over them. But the actual acting aspect wasn’t really required much throughout that day. Everything felt… pretty much the same, actually. Aside from a couple abrupt questions from Scott’s cousins, who are very interested in his life. 

“So, how did this happen?” Julie, the oldest of the two, asks while leaning on the arm of the couch, grinning at them. “I mean, it’s not a shock or anything, but like, Carlos and I were absolutely positive that neither of you would figure it out until you were well in your mid-twenties to early-thirties at the least.”

The one thing that keeps throwing Stiles off is everyone’s proclamations that they saw this coming. Scott’s dad, Scott’s grandmother, his aunt and uncle, now his cousins. Even Lydia has said that playing along is as easy as breathing. Was it just obvious that he had a crush on Scott when they were kids? That has to be what they were picking up on, yet it’s still confusing that there isn’t even the tiniest bit of surprise over their sudden relationship. 

Scott laughs it off. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Come on, Scotty, you gotta admit, we were totally oblivious,” Stiles says. He can’t help his mind straying to yesterday’s conversation. Are they both just pretending to be totally oblivious about that as well, as if neither of them know what any of that meant? Because Stiles was sure he knew in the moment, but not so much anymore. 

Rolling his eyes, Scott says, “Yeah, that’s fair. But to answer the question, we got together just over a year ago.”

“Oh no,” Carlos joins in, his eyes widening in mock horror as he pops up from the floor. He takes pride and joy in being the youngest of the family, even if only three years younger than Scott and Stiles. “At Christmas?”

Julie swats his arm. “Shut up. Do not start with your whole doom and gloom over Christmas just because your little girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend!”

“—didn’t get you anything, and now you think that all romance is doomed to end in tragedy during the holidays.”

“Not true,” Carlos protests with a sulky scowl at her. 

Julie just hums and raises her eyebrows with a clear look that says she in no way believes him. Scott and Stiles are just laughing.

“Besides, you can’t jinx them with your weird superstition because neither of them actually celebrate Christmas,” Julie finishes with a voice that indicates the end of discussion. She turns back to the two of them before Carlos can interrupt. “So, a year, huh? Took you long enough to fill us in.”

She’s teasing, they both know, but they also share the same split-second of panic at the realization that they overlooked that tiny detail. Scott may not see the rest of his family all that often, but they keep in touch pretty regularly. A lot of the stuff that goes on in their lives is shared between them. The thought of Scott failing to mention a year-long relationship with his best friend of fourteen years? That’s a cause for suspicion. 

Yet no one actually seems like they’re suspecting them of anything. Why would they? Lying about a relationship? What would be the point? A question that Stiles is still wondering himself. He knows it’s for fun, because he was kidding around and told Scott to lie, but at the same time, he can’t help wondering if there’s another reason that they were both so willing to go through with it when they could easily have come clean. 

“We just… weren’t sure about when to tell people,” Scott makes up. “You know, we were just seeing where it would go at first, and I didn’t want to jinx anything by telling you and then having something happen between us, and it all kinda falling apart. It was easier to wait, to make sure.”

Stiles is too busy watching Scott with curiosity to chime in his agreement. But he quickly puts on a smile when he catches Carlos’ eyes darting to him from the corner of his own. 

“But now we’re absolutely positive,” Stiles says, leaning into Scott’s side with a gentle nudge to his shoulder. 

It draws Scott’s attention to him, brings a smile to his face in return, an amused look shining in the crinkles around his eyes. It’s all so warm and soft, so much so that Stiles wishes he didn’t notice the slightest dip in Scott’s smile or the flicker in his eyes. Maybe they really are still pretending. Stiles just wishes he knew in what way.

“Oh god,” Julie groans, pulling both of their stares back to her. “You two are already sickeningly adorable and I’ve only been here for, what? Four hours? I thought you grew out of the cute stage after a year?” 

“Oh, come on, have you not met us?” Stiles jokes, sliding right back into his usual facade, slinging an arm around Scott’s shoulders. “We’ve never been anything less than adorable.”

There were some laughs, then the conversation changed to another topic, and that was about the most that they had to fake throughout the day, especially considering Stiles wasn’t able to stick around for too long, having to go home. 

And then the day after, he had plans to meet up with Malia, so he didn’t see too much of Scott’s family then or the day after, either. Fortunately, according to Scott, there was no interrogation while he was away. Their plan is working out exactly as they initially wanted it to with Scott’s dad.

He hasn’t been around since showing up at Stiles’ house. Maybe he actually listened to Melissa and left. Maybe he’s just staying out of everyone’s way until he’s able to go home. Either way, Stiles is more than happy to not be seeing any more of him. He can’t speak for Scott, but he seems pretty okay with it as well. Maybe Stiles is just hoping that he is.

He hasn’t said anything about him coming to the house. The most that was discussed was when he told his mom he’s glad she said what she did. No mention of getting in contact with him, or how he’s feeling about his dad trying to take it all back. Honestly? It worries Stiles a little bit. 

But he’s not going to be the one to mention him; if Scott wants to talk, then he is more than happy to listen. It’s New Year’s Eve, they have another hang-out going on (at Ruby’s this time, since Ruby and her grandmother keep the diner open every year so that people will have a place to go). That’s all that Stiles wants to focus on.    
  
  


* * *

  
  


Scott pulls on his coat, looks at himself in the mirror. He takes it back off and paces around his room in search of a different one. It’s cold out but he probably won’t be outside much unless they go up to the roof like they did last year, and even then he probably won’t need a thick jacket. 

His phone stops him in his search as it buzzes. Slipping it out of his pocket, he gives the screen a read. His jaw clenches, his teeth grinding softly together outside of his notice. He does, thankfully, notice his grip tightening on his phone. 

With a sigh, he swipes the red button along the screen with one careful flick of his thumb then tucks his phone back into his pocket after checking that he’s still on time. He resumes his search for a jacket. Except now all he can think about is his dad. 

He hasn’t stopped trying to call him since he came to Stiles’ house the other night. It was stupid to give him his number, Scott realizes now, but it had been back before all of this, when his dad was initially trying to make amends and Scott didn’t have the heart to say no to him when he asked. He could block his number. But at the same time, a little part of him worries that doing that would mean he’s the one in the wrong. 

After all, his dad’s trying to get in touch with him. Maybe even to work out what happened the other night. To apologize, take it all back? And if Scott doesn’t give him the chance, then isn’t he the one severing the rope and refusing to let him try and be better? 

Scott closes his eyes and groans quietly, dropping his head to hang forward between his shoulders. His hands rake through his hair, as if he can physically pull his thoughts onto a different track. Having the same argument with himself over and over again is starting to get exhausting. 

He knows that he’s wrong, and that his dad’s had his chances, and that Scott owes him less than he’s given him already. It isn’t on him to give him the chance to be forgiven. Yet, his mind is acting like it should be and he should be taking on all of the responsibility because his life is a mess and he doesn’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. 

His dad’s already been in danger because of him with the oni, so what if something else happens, but he doesn’t make it this time and it’s Scott’s fault and he never even gave him a last chance to make things right between them?

“And we’re back at the beginning,” he mutters to himself in frustration. It’s a vicious loop that never seems to end, even when he’s trying to sleep. 

“Beginning of what?”

Scott turns around to find his mom in his doorway. She has the night off from the hospital and decided to come along to Ruby’s tonight. Scott was glad when she told him; he’s been able to feel the strain of all of this in the air around here over the last week. A night off where she doesn’t have to think about anything but having fun is deserved. 

She deserves to be able to have whatever nights off she wants and to not have to worry about anything, including him, like she is right now. He would do anything to give her that. 

Smiling, Scott rolls his eyes and waves a hand vaguely. “I can’t find a jacket I want to wear. Dumb, I know, but if Julie and Carlos are coming with us to this, then I’m not giving them any opportunity to make fun of me in front of the pack.”

“Well, in that case, I’d be careful about calling them your pack,” his mom says pointedly, but her smile is happy. Her eyes are a little more tired but for once, there’s a glint in her eyes that doesn’t dull or fade, but brightens as she steps into the room with a teasing expression of her own. 

“And I’ll try and remember not to glow my eyes and go around calling myself the Alpha all night,” Scott says sarcastically. He picks up the jacket he tossed on the bed and pulls it back on, moving into the bathroom to stand in front of the mirror. “I’m more worried about Carlos meeting Malia.”

His mom laughs. “For good reason, I’m sure. She’s not much of a fan of anything that’s small, loud, and asks too many questions, and Carlos is, well…”

“All of the above,” Scott says.

She gives a disapproving look to his grin, but she isn’t disagreeing. Scott turns back to stare into the mirror to adjust his jacket. His mom appears beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder, and smiles at him in the mirror. 

“You look nice, by the way,” he says to her. “I’m guessing Tía Rose insisted on doing the hair?”

“Hm,” she confirms, nodding, and making the spiralling curls bob along with her. “And the makeup. She tried to press for more but I stopped her at lip gloss, eyeshadow, and mascara. It’s not too bad, though. She was really excited about it, so there was no harm in indulging her a little.”

She gives him a poke in the shoulder with an accusing look.

“Something that you’ve been doing a whole lot since they got here.” She raises her eyebrows at his confused sputtering. “You and Stiles? The two of you spun a whole fairytale romance to her, to your uncle Ray, your abuela, and especially to Julie and Carlos.”

“Well, we had to!” Scott protests. “I had already told Abuela that we were dating.”

His mom raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “And you couldn’t have just, oh, I don’t know, told her the truth? That it was a joke?”

Scott shrugs, eyes actively avoiding catching his mom’s in the mirror. “I don’t know, it just felt… I mean, there’s no harm in pretending, is there? It’s not a big deal.”

“Scott, your abuela and Tía Rose are practically planning your wedding,” 

Rolling his eyes, Scott tries to laugh the subject off. 

But his mom isn’t done. She softens her voice when she speaks to him again, watching him in the mirror as she says, “Pretending isn’t a problem. But when it’s what you actually want, maybe it’s finally time to stop.”

Stop.  _ Maybe… we should stop pretending. _

_ Are you sure this is a good idea? _

He had been doing a pretty good job of not thinking about that conversation. Or about the way Stiles had kissed him back, more than once. Or the way that he had only hesitated because he said he didn’t want Scott to regret jumping into anything with him. Which… could mean that he does want to jump into something with him, right?

But it could also just be his way of trying to let him down gently. Things are pretty much back to normal, aside from the whole fake relationship. The joking flirting is still the same, Stiles still acts like Stiles, and everything is the same. What if this just ruined it?

Sucking in a sharp breath, Scott shakes his head. “I can’t. What if something goes wrong? What if Stiles doesn’t want more?”

His mom groans, rolling her eyes in full exasperation. “Please, that boy has been in love with you since you two were four! I assure you that he probably wants this as much as you do.”

“You know, I only told you that I liked him to stop myself from telling him, not so you could convince me that I should,” Scott says, but they both know he was expecting this. “And also because you would have figured it out if I didn’t tell you.”

“Oh, honey, I figured it out before I caught you making out with him in your bedroom.”

“That’s not—we were—fine, yeah, okay. That’s—that’s fair. But I just…” Scott sighs, and finally looks at his mom. “I kind of told him.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You did? Why didn’t you say anything? I was sitting here trying to make you do something you’ve already done?”

“I said kind of.” At her encouraging look, he explains, “Well, we were just talking, and then… I started talking about not wanting to pretend anymore, and… long story short, he said he’s not sure it’s a good idea.”

The look on his mom’s face is exactly as he expected, but somehow it still makes him feel bad in a nauseating way. Her sympathy only confirms what he already was thinking. 

Then his mom starts shaking her head. “Oh, you sweet idiot. Did you ever actually take a second to consider that he said that because he isn’t sure you’re genuine about these feelings?”

“He thinks I’m lying?” Scott questions, his eyebrows furrowing.

“No, but he might not realize that you aren’t just getting confused by this whole pretending to date plan,” she points out. “He’s probably thinking that you’ve just convinced yourself that you feel this way about him but you don’t actually, and so he doesn’t want to start anything in case you realize it’s not real.”

Looking back on it now, his mom makes a good point. Stiles has only protested because he didn’t know how Scott really felt. He thinks it’s some reckless decision that he’s making so that he doesn’t have to think about everything with his dad. Or worse, he thinks it’s to spite his dad. 

Stiles genuinely thinking that he would do that… He didn’t think the nauseating feeling could get any worse. 

“But what if it was really just his way of trying to gently let me down?” Scott asks, unable to shake the idea, part of him still refusing to believe that there’s really a possibility of Stiles feeling even a fraction of the same way.

“Then you accept that, and you move on,” his mom says gently, her smile kind as she gently squeezes his arm. “But you have to at least talk to him about it.”

He knows she’s right. He does—he knew that they wouldn’t be able to just avoid it. It’s not what he wanted, anyway. The risk was always going to be something that he was willing to take, because no matter what, he knows that he’ll still have Stiles in his life, and that’s all that matters. He just let the fear and doubt get the better of him for a minute. 

There’s a flicker in her expression, like she wants to say more. But she hesitates and looks away.

“What?” Scott asks with a frown. “Mom, what is it?”

“You also… need to talk about him.”

Scott knows they aren’t talking about Stiles anymore.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Even as Scott says it, he knows it isn’t true. 

There’s a lot to talk about, a lot that he wants to get out, to just have someone else hear. But it still  _ feels _ like there’s nothing to talk about. What’s the point in putting his problems onto someone else? He’s not supposed to do that, he’s supposed to be able to handle things on his own. 

But his mom meets his eyes with a look that’s both pleading with him to let her in and gentle encouragement letting him know that it’s safe to do so. Something about it brings him right back to Christmas Eve night. 

Drawing in a slow breath, Scott shakes his head. His shoulder raises in a halfhearted shrug as all he can offer his mom is a smile that tries to twist itself down against his clenched jaw.

“He said everything he wanted to already,” Scott says. “He made his choice. And I’m making mine, to not give him another chance to just do it all over again. Because it’s never going to change with him, is it?”

Her eyes shine with the shards of a smile she mirrors back to him. She shakes her head, her hand running over his arm, tightening ever so slightly.

“No,” she breathes out shakily. “No, honey, I don’t—I don’t think it is. Your father… he doesn’t want to change. He’s said he will before, time after time, for my sake, for yours, for his own, but…”

She trails off with a shrug. Scott nods, letting it really sink in for the first time. 

“That’s it then,” he says quietly, biting back the strain in his voice. “There’s nothing left for me to say to him. I just… want to forget about him, and—and go back to the way that things were before he showed up here. Things were good before.”

His mom nods, her smile widening a little as she says, “Yeah, yeah, they were.”

She swallows and composes herself as Scott wipes his sleeve beneath his eye, catching the few stray tears trying to make their escape. 

“Are—are you sure you don’t want to talk about it at all, though?” she asks, blinking back her own tears, and wiping away the one that already made it out. “Because you know you can. No matter what it’s about.”

“Maybe tonight?” Scott suggests. “Later, when we come back? If that’s okay?”

“Absolutely,” she tells him, taking his hands in hers. She presses a kiss to the back of his knuckles, and he chuckles softly, warmth burying the ache that had started up in his chest. “Now. We seriously need to get going or Tía Rose is going to kill the both of us. She’s very excited about New Year in California, you’d think she didn’t live just four states away.”

That turns Scott’s chuckle into a full-blown laugh, making his mom join in as well. He agrees, and they finally leave the bathroom. Scott makes sure to grab his keys and his phone. When he glances at the screen, a smile stretches across his face until it aches from it.

_ Just leaving now! See you in ten minutes! _

_ You better remember to bring your absolute A game, because I plan on being the best fake boyfriend ever tonight. Looking forward to our midnight kiss ;) - Your knight in a fairly functional jeep  _


	9. Chapter 9

Almost everyone is already milling about the diner. Most of the pack, a bunch of other people that Stiles doesn’t know or recognize, and a few that he thinks he vaguely might from frequent trips. His brows furrow as he scans over everyone still downstairs (some people already went up onto the roof in preparation for the countdown that’s looming closer). 

Lydia is perched delicately on the edge of one of the tables, looking as stunning as ever in a fitted gold dress, her hair braided into a crown-like style. Sitting in the booth around her and deeply immersed in conversation with her is a boy from their school that Stiles doesn’t know the name of. He’s kinda short, and Stiles thinks he can recall seeing him during lacrosse practice. Maybe a new kid. 

Across from him on Lydia’s other side are Kira and Boyd. 

Kira’s got the brightest smile lighting up her face, just as she always does, and honestly, he would have thought that it would have scared Boyd off. The guy doesn’t like communicating much and he certainly doesn’t like when people are loud and talk a mile a minute about absolutely nothing to him — Stiles would  _ know _ . 

And yet, it was like best friends at first sight with Kira. If anything, he actually looks fond of her as he nods along with whatever she’s saying. It’s strange to see the two of them so —  _ so bonded _ . Stiles cannot for the life of him figure it out, but he’s already vowed to himself to just let it go to save himself the utter bewilderment. 

Erica and Isaac are chatting away to Ruby a few seats down from himself at the counter. Both of them seem to be having differing feelings about being here; while Erica is laid-back, relaxed, soaking up some of the attention she’s getting and just generally having a good time, Isaac is more reserved and wary of eyes passing over him, and keeps rolling his own eyes. Yet another combination that Stiles did not expect to come out of Beacon Hills, and yet, fate is dragging them all in different directions.

Allison’s standing with her dad, who looks nearly as uncomfortable about being here as Isaac. But he smiles at her nonetheless and even engages in some conversation with her and Malia, who she seems to have dragged over, probably to ensure she doesn’t get bored enough to leave early or to stop her from eating someone before they’ve even hit midnight. 

Liam’s huddled in his little group with his usual partners in crime, sitting on top of the booth divider instead of actually in the booth itself and wearing a smile almost as bright as Kira’s. He’s got Mason sitting next to the seat that his feet are technically occupying, Tracy next to him, Corey, Nolan and Josh across from them on the other side with Hayden mirroring Liam on the other divider. Stiles snorts and can’t help shaking his head to himself. 

If he’s honest, they look like their own little pack. But then, he supposes, they probably just look like any other friend group. The supernatural has clouded his vision on a lot of typically ordinary things. There’s just something about seeing them all together like they are. 

Scott would say that it’s good, that they’re forming such close bonds, it makes them all stronger and he’s glad that they have each other to lean on and support each other even if Liam is technically the only pack member out of them all as the only supernatural one. 

Stiles says it’s a little unnerving and reminds him of when they themselves were first starting out as a “pack” with Scott practically an Alpha before he even was one. That in itself isn’t inherently a bad thing. It’s just the thought of this little group of humans lead by one mildly powerful beta turning out to be more than that. 

Humans don’t stay human for long in this town. Hell, even he’s been supernatural briefly. Who knows what could happen to Liam’s friends if they were pulled into their world as well? He likes Liam, he’s a good kid, but he is just not up for having more problems, and having human friends who know nothing about this other side of him and this whole other world (aside from Mason, who of course was told within two weeks) always leads to problems one way or another. 

Doing another glance around the room, Stiles notices that one of their problems isn’t here. Not that Stiles was in any way expecting him to be. Derek doesn’t show up for anything pack-related at the best of times if it’s not an emergency. 

But Scott’s been going on about how worried he is about him that it’s starting to become harder for Stiles to brush it off. Surely he’d at least have texted Scott to tell him that he’s okay when he realized how worried Scott was about him? 

There’s only one thing that Stiles has in common with Derek Hale and it’s that they both care about Scott deeply. In very different ways, Stiles hopes and prays because, dear god, he shudders to think otherwise, but Derek still cares about Scott like he’s his own family. He wouldn’t just ignore him. 

The thought goes out of Stiles’ mind when his eyes catch sight of Scott’s grandmother, followed by his aunt. A flutter of excitement kicks up in his chest like a horse blowing up dust in preparation for a big race. He pushes away from the counter, winding his way through the crowd of people, muttering a sheepish, “excuse me” and “sorry, just - don’t mind me!”

He finally manages to break through the crowd and finds Scott’s grandmother. She delights at the sight of him, cooing instantly. He laughs it off as she goes on again about how much taller he is now, how he’s as handsome as his father was at his age. Stiles can’t even begin to imagine his dad as a teenager and he isn’t about to start right now. 

“It’s nice to see you, too, Granny Gado. I was just looking for Scott, he messaged and told me he was running late,” Stiles explains when he manages to get a word in. “Have you seen him or his mom at all?”

“Oh, of course,” Scott’s gran says with a knowing smile. 

“Young lovers these days, not so different from my own more youthful days,” Rose says, teasing. “Can hardly bear to be apart.”

“Do you need me to save you and get you away from this embarrassing show?” Julie whispers to him theatrically, knowing full well that both her mom and her gran can hear her. 

“You can hardly blame us for being a little happy, Mija,” her gran says, grinning wide and gesturing at Stiles. “These boys have been playing a game of will they, won’t they for years now. It’s a relief that I’m not going to be dead by the time they announce the wedding.”

Stiles’ heart skips and his face flushes with heat. He’s sure the lighting in this place shows it, too. Coughing awkwardly as Rose gently scolds her with a laugh and Julie raises her eyebrows at him, Stiles decides that making a getaway is a good idea after all. All he can think about now is wedding bells, long aisles, tuxes and cake and Scott and—

“That offer to save me still good?” he asks Julie, and she nods, quickly taking his arm and waving off her gran and mom as she hurries him back through the sea of people. 

“Don’t worry, my mom and dad tend to do that to me all the time back home as well,” Julie tells him. “It’s even worse when Abuela visits. They’re convinced I’m in love with one of my bandmates.”

“How does he handle it?” Stiles asks. 

Julie hesitates. “It’s a good thing that he’s never around when they start on about it.”

“Smart boy,” Stiles says drily. He doesn’t actually mind, though. Having them tease him about being Scott’s boyfriend makes it feel real for those few moments. It’s nice. Even if it’s  _ not _ real. 

Julie laughs. “Yeah, he’s—he’s really smart. But, to answer your question, before we left, Scott mentioned wanting to check in on a friend? He might be there. Or he’s making himself look nice for you.”

She waggles her eyebrows and Stiles groans. 

“Not you, too!”

“I’m sorry, but teasing you is in my contract as your future cousin-in-law,” Julie says as she backs up to the counter with a devious grin. She ignores Stiles’ mock glare with a shrug. “Tell you what, you can do the same to me if I get in a relationship.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but makes the deal all the same. It could come in handy to him later on, even if he and Scott do fake their breakup before then. Which, he realizes with a jolt, they will be doing soon. 

After all, the plan was only meant to go until New Year. Now, of course, it’s been stretched a little longer to include the visit from Scott’s family, but even with Scott’s gran potentially moving to town, faking an amicable breakup in the next few days would be the most logical option. 

Maybe even tonight. People break up on New Year’s Eve. 

Suddenly the whole thing seems daunting. How is he supposed to fake a breakup? Especially when it’s the last thing he would actually want? Sure, it would probably only take a pretend whispered conversation off to the side, followed up by them breaking the news when asked why they didn’t kiss at midnight or something along the lines. 

But what if he gets it wrong? What if he slips up? What if he just looks so in love with Scott that they don’t buy it, or they think it wasn’t actually mutual, and then there’s a whole mountain of questions piled on them? 

“You okay?” Julie asks, looking concerned. “You look kinda ill. I was only kidding, you know. If it really bothers you, I’ll stop teasing. And I’ll tell my mom and Abuela to ease back a bit as well, if you want.”

Stiles shakes his head, forcing another laugh. “No, no, I’m fine. Really. It’s probably just the lighting in here. And — I’m just worried about Scott.”

A dark look crosses Julie’s face, and she nods understandingly. “I know. I have been, too. I heard about what happened, with his dad. Is Scott… doing okay? I mean, he’s seemed like his usual self the last few days, and he’s been pretty happy, but I know what he’s like. He’s good at hiding the real stuff underneath all of that.”

“I take it he hasn’t said anything to you about it then?” Julie shakes her head and Stiles sighs. Of course not. “He hasn’t talked to me, either. I’ve been trying to open up the conversation to him, but he always finds a way to sidetrack it. I want to believe that he’s okay.”

“Maybe he really is,” Julie says, shrugging, but she bites her lip uncertainly. “Maybe he just needs more time. Or maybe he’s talked to Tía Melissa. I’m sure he’ll be okay, it’s just all still raw right now. Some time will help.”

Stiles knows she’s right. Time usually makes most wounds less painful — he would know from firsthand experience. But part of him thinks that Scott isn’t going to get the chance to heal, or… even won’t allow himself to if his dad continuously shows up in his life, reopening the wound again and again. 

“Speaking of your loverboy,” Julie then says, her smile returning. 

She nods her head behind Stiles and he turns to find Scott and his mom entering the diner. Relief floods him, so much so that he’s happy to ignore her teasing him as well. She really does take after her mom. 

Raising a hand, Stiles catches Scott’s eyes and gestures him over with a wave. He and Julie still move to meet him and Melissa anyway. Scott’s smiling, and there’s a strange look about his expression, but not in the way that it has been recently. He doesn’t look as weighed down, metaphorically speaking. He looks happy. Really, genuinely happy. 

“Ugh, good, you’re here!” Stiles says, immediately taking up their usual playfulness without a thought. “Right on time as well, I was worried I was going to have to pick a random date for our wedding to satisfy your aunt and your grandmother. It would have been November 24th, for the record.”

Scott laughs. Melissa raises her eyebrows but smiles at him. It’s very similar to how his own dad would have responded. That gives Stiles questions. He shouldn’t be surprised, in all fairness, if she actually does know as much as he thinks she does. Unless she doesn’t. Then there’s a whole other reason for that look and that smile that he isn’t aware of, but he can’t think what it could be aside from that she knows. 

Letting the thought be pushed to the back of his mind for now, he reminds himself to come back to it. He focuses his attention on Scott, only to realize that he’s closer to him now, sidling up to him. Of course, Stiles quickly thinks, keeping himself composed as Scott rests a hand on his arm for a brief moment. 

“At least now that’s sorted,” Scott jokes back, ignoring the following roll of Stiles’ eyes. “Sorry for the interrogation. They’re just… happy, I think. But I promise you, I will not leave you alone to plan our future again, okay?”

Stiles considers it. Then he says, “Okay, fine. But if we get asked about children, you’re deciding if and how many, and what their names are, so you better prepare for that.”

Scott gives him this strange smile that’s just begging Stiles’ stomach to grow wings. He leans into his side with a playful nudge, his hand moving to Stiles’ back. “Who says I haven’t already?”

Who knew five words could destroy Stiles’ entire ability to think, talk, and maybe even breathe? It’s like his whole function just shuts down without any warning. But even so, he’s still able to catch the way that Scott says it, and pick up on just how close he’s standing to him.

So, he still knows when to end the slightly breathy, nervous laugh that he manages to push out and when to stop nodding so that he’s able to casually melt into the kiss that Scott’s leaning in for. 

It’s the first time they’ve kissed since Christmas morning. The first time that it actually feels like they’re acknowledging that the conversation happened. But it’s pretend, just an act to put on, so there’s no lingering message. No lingering of any kind. It’s quick enough for it to not be awkward but not so quick that it’s questionably chaste. It’s the perfect kind of casual kiss for the public eye.

Even so, when they pull away, they’re met with exaggerated cooing. 

“I’m so not letting you live it down when you finally get with that bandmate of yours,” Stiles warns Julie, but she just pulls a face at him and smiles, clearly not bothered by the threat if it means she gets to tease him right now. 

Melissa’s quiet, he notices. Scott does as well. Stiles catches the look they give each other. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything on it. His stomach gives another twist though, that reminder popping back up like a flashing sign on a screen. He mentally crosses it off again. 

“You look really nice,” he says instead, nodding at her with a smile that she returns. 

They stay there chatting for a little while, and order drinks for all of them — an Irish cream latte for Melissa, a chocolate orange hot chocolate for Scott, a caramel iced latte for Julie, and a Reese's peanut butter milkshake for Stiles. They certainly warm them all up from the chill that keeps breezing in with every open and close of the door. Or in Stiles’ and Julie’s cases, they at least keep them occupied, satiated, and content. 

Melissa ends up wandering off after spotting one of her friends. She walks up to their little group and is immediately engrossed in joyous, animated conversation. Stiles vaguely recognizes a couple of them from his many hospital visits, but he can only really name two of the people in the group — Mrs Milligan, the third grade teacher at the local primary school, and the only teacher that was more understanding than impatient when he or Scott acted up or messed about. And Dr Geyers, one of Melissa’s coworkers and Liam’s stepdad. He hasn’t had too many run-ins with him, personally, which is a surprise, but he seems pretty nice. 

The three of them end up gravitating towards their own friends, and Scott introduces Julie to most of the pack. She instantly gets on with all of them, even Isaac, to Stiles’ great displeasure. 

But she takes the most liking to Lydia, who is absolutely thrilled about Scott having a cousin who’s practically their age. They become fast friends in the space of a ten minute conversation. Not surprising in the slightest. 

At eleven-fifteen, they decide to head up onto the roof. Ruby smiles and waves on passing, and both Stiles and Scott try to persuade her to leave her post for just a half hour to join them, but she’s stubborn and shoos them away. 

It’s a lot colder on the roof than it was down in the diner, with its thick walls and air conditioning. But even with the breeze nipping at his skin, Stiles has to admit, there’s something nice about being up here. The sky is pitch black, and stars dot the sky, winking down at them. Even the moon is out, a bright crescent slice in the darkness around it. 

“Well, we’ve survived a year of all of this,” Scott says, looking out across the town from where they’re leaning against the edge of the wall. He’s smiling, a gleam in his eyes.

“Hey, we still have thirteen minutes left, let’s not jinx it,” Stiles jokes, but he looks at him and smiles back. Scott rolls his eyes and Stiles softly adds, “We really did make it, huh?”

After everything that’s happened in the past year, it’s incredible that they somehow actually managed to survive it all. But they’re all still here. Still together, and with even more of them, in fact. They’re stronger than they were then. 

Scott nods, and he sounds just as disbelieving yet so proud of them all as he says, “Yeah, we did.” Then his smile slips a little, and a crease forms between his eyebrows. He doesn’t say anything, but Stiles knows that look well enough for him not to need to. 

“Are you still worried about Derek?” he asks quietly, and Scott nods again. Stiles nudges him with his elbow, trying to reassure him. “Hey, I’m sure he’s probably just hiding out until tomorrow. He probably just wasn’t too keen on celebrating, you know? But if it’ll make you feel better, we could swing by his loft after here?”

“Won’t he mind us turning up after midnight?” Scott questions, but it’s obvious that he’s going to agree anyway. 

Stiles shrugs. “Well, then maybe he should answer someone’s messages, and we wouldn’t have to turn up after midnight just to make sure he hasn’t dropped off the face of the planet.”

Scott chuckles, but the concern’s still there. It eases at least enough for him to relax with the knowledge that they’re checking in on Derek soon, though. 

“So,” he starts, and looks back over at Stiles. The look on his face has changed — warier now than before, a little bit nervous. “You’ve been talking to my abuela and Rose?”

"Technically speaking, they were talking," Stiles corrects. "I just kinda stood there and tried not to give us away. I think I did okay.”

Scott sighs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry about all of this.”

Stiles frowns, thrown off by the sudden apology. “What?”

“The plan,” Scott elaborates. “I’m sorry that it went on like this. It was only meant to be for one night, that was the agreement, and then it spiralled, and I just — you didn’t ask to be dragged into all of this, as well-meaning as my abuela, and Tía Rose and Julie are.”

“Are you forgetting the part where this whole thing was my idea in the first place?” Stiles asks, confused. When Scott goes to open his mouth, Stiles quickly presses on, “And — you didn’t drag me into anything. I was only kidding, I really don’t mind joking around with your gran and your aunt, you know that.”

The look that Scott gives him is telling him that he’s not convinced. Stiles can’t figure out where this is all coming from. Unless it’s not about dragging Stiles into it. Maybe Scott’s more sorry that he went along with it in the first place. 

He realizes that it’s finally time. There’s only so long that he was going to be able to delay the conversation, and really, now is the perfect time to get it all out in open, entering the “new year” with no secrets and no regret on either side. 

“Okay,” Stiles mutters, more to himself, but he knows that Scott can hear him. He turns to face him. “I think we need to talk. Which, coming from me, is surprising, I know, and I can assure you that I’d rather not be saying any of this, but I also know that we need to.”

“That’s not a terrifying way to word that at all,” Scott says, a little joking, but there’s a glint of anxiety in his eyes, clearly trying to steel himself. 

“Christmas morning,” Stiles starts, and already the regret is twisting up his insides. Why did he think that he could be the one to do this? “It’s just that we — you know, we haven’t exactly… talked about it. And it just feels like we should."

To his relief — and regret, which is quickly gnawing through his stomach like a piranha — Scott nods.

“I know,” he agrees. “I was planning to talk to you about it even before that, I just… I guess I backed out.” 

He chuckles softly to himself with another shake of his head, although Stiles is failing to find the humour in what is probably about to be the ultimate rejection. 

“I kept telling myself that it wouldn’t matter how you reacted because we’d still be friends, so there was nothing to be scared of. Yet you’re the one who brought it up while I wasn’t even sure how to start.”

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve been a nervous wreck for the last few days,” Stiles tells him truthfully. “But there really is nothing to be afraid of, Scotty, I promise. Of course we’re still going to be friends —  _ best  _ friends. You are not lowering my rank.”

The corner of Scott’s mouth twitches up and he rolls his eyes. 

“I should probably start by saying that maybe it wasn’t my smartest idea to suggest the whole fake relationship thing,” Stiles admits. 

Shrugging, Scott says, “You weren’t to know, though. Neither of us could have known. Besides,” he smiles at him, “I don’t regret it. I really enjoyed being your fake boyfriend. I guess that’s the problem, though.”

Stiles nods, sighing, even with a tiny twitch of a smile. “Yeah, it is. It was fake. Honestly, I just… I’m really sorry about Christmas morning.”

Scott’s eyebrows furrow. “Why are you sorry? If anyone, it should be me — and I am. I shouldn’t have kissed you, or even said any of that. I just wanted to be honest, but none of it really came out right, and then we never really picked it back up, so I couldn’t explain.”

“It’s okay, though, because I understood what you were trying to say,” Stiles says. “And, I really didn’t mind the kiss at all. Trust me.”

Laughing, Scott ducks his head, looking down at the street below them. Stiles stares at the lit-up pavement, his eyes moving from one person to another, watching them get ready to go back into the diner for the countdown, or even preparing to celebrate right there. 

His chest has less of an ache to it, he realizes. It doesn’t feel like he’s got an anchor sitting in the pit of his stomach, pulling his lungs down with it. Who knew that the truth could actually feel better? It weirdly hurts way less than he was expecting it to.

“You know, I think this may just have been the nicest rejection I’ve ever had,” he jokes and nudges Scott with his elbow. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from you. I don’t know why I was so afraid to tell you that I had feelings for you, I mean, it’s not like you were going to take it badly.”

“Yeah, I know, I—” Scott stops, his grin faltering. He turns his head sharply to look at Stiles in confusion. “Wait, what? You have feelings for me?”

“Uh… yeah?” Stiles’ heart jumps. “Was that… that’s what we were talking about? Wasn’t it?”

Scott shakes his head, looking even more confused. “I thought we were talking about how I have feelings for you…”

The panic that had quickly been escalating inside of Stiles tumbles right back down into the pit of his stomach. In what world was that even an option for conversation? Because Stiles can’t recall it being this one! 

“What? No, no, no,” Stiles waves his hands, laughing in spite of himself, “you’re rejecting me! That’s what this is! A very gentle let down, where you’re telling me that our whole fake relationship was just pretend for you. That’s what you said!”

Scott’s eyebrows scrunch together and he straightens up, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t! You were saying that!”

“Wha—why would I be saying that? I’ve been in love with you since we were twelve! The only thing that I was faking was when it was just you and me and we weren’t pretending! And, also when your grandmother asked me if we like the idea of a church wedding and I said definitely — I do not want to get married in a church, and I refuse to step foot inside of one.”

He’s aware of his own rambling as he always tends to be. It does not mean he has any actual control over it, though. And Scott’s not being much help in shutting him up as Stiles seems to have rendered him speechless to a point of just staring at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. 

Fortunately for both of them, he quickly snaps out of it before Stiles can be allowed to go too far. 

“Since… since we were twelve?” Scott says quietly.

Stiles falters a little under the realization that he let that slip in the moment. His skin flushes and he’s sure turns a delightful shade of red as well but he ignores it.

“Uh… yeah.” He laughs again, a nervous twinge to it, and shrugs. “It’s probably about the only secret I’ve ever successfully kept from you. Quite proud of myself for that, actually.”

“I…” Scott blows out a breath with another shake of his head. There’s a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “Wow. Okay. That’s a lot longer than I was expecting, especially considering I was also assuming that this was going to be a rejection. Just—just so we’re clear, that’s definitely not what’s happening—?”

“Well, I’m not rejecting you,” Stiles says. The thought alone is laughable, if he’s honest. 

“And I’m not rejecting you, either,” Scott adds, his eyebrows raising as he makes sure Stiles believes him and doesn’t think it’s still some form of a gentle let down. “I honestly don’t know how long I’ve been in love with you, it just kinda hit me when we started this, but I don’t want you to think that that means it’s not real and I’m just confused by it all, because—I can promise you, one-hundred percent, I’m not confused.”

Stiles is smiling. He can’t help it. Scott’s smiling too, and he’s looking at him with those big soft eyes. Everything is quiet around them, like they’re in a soundproof bubble away from everyone else. The voices have faded into the quiet murmur of a TV playing away through the darkness of Stiles’ bedroom. He knows what comes next. 

“So that’s what you were trying to tell me,” Stiles says, the pieces finally slotting into place. 

Nodding, Scott takes a tiny step forward. Stiles’ heart leaps into his throat. He swallows it back down.

“Yeah, but then we never brought it back up again, so I thought that maybe it was better to just let it go in case that’s why we weren’t talking about it.” Scott shrugs. “I thought you didn’t want to.”

“I didn’t! Because I thought that you didn’t, and I also thought that if we did, then I’d be forcing you to tell me that you don’t feel the same about me. But, evidently, I was way off on that.”

Scott laughs and nods, saying, “Way,  _ way _ off. But, so was I, so I can’t really judge.”

“So, the conclusion we’re coming to is that neither of us is rejecting the other, we both have very strong romantic feelings for each other, and we’re both complete and utter idiots?”

With a thoughtful look, Scott says, “All true, but you left one thing out.”

Confused, Stiles tries to go back through his list and figure out what he could possibly be missing. As far as he’s aware, there’s nothing else, but Scott seems pretty confident that there is, so he tries. 

Scott pulls out his phone, apparently deciding to give him a hand. “It’s a minute from midnight and we’re still technically dating.”

Stiles has caught up. His face aches from smiling but he couldn’t care less. 

The countdown starts around them. They’re both grinning, their hearts thumping against their ribs. They join in, catching sight of their friends and family, some shouting out each number with more and more enthusiasm, some already holding up their glasses of whatever to toast each other. 

A chorus of, “Happy New Year!” erupts across the roof, and from down below in the diner and on the street. There’s only a split second of hesitation on both their parts before they’re leaning in and kissing along with a dozen other people. 

For the first time, neither of them are pretending. 

When they pull apart, Scott’s smiling while all Stiles can do is stand there, lips slightly parted like a dumbfounded puppy. He quickly clears his throat and swallows, to Scott’s great amusement. 

“So,” Stiles says softly, or as soft as he can with his voice perhaps an octave higher, “I guess there’s no point in faking a breakup now, huh?”

“No breakup, and no more faking anything,” Scott says. “Does that sound… good?”

“Yeah, absolutely perfect,” Stiles agrees instantly. 

They both laugh. Stiles’ skin prickles when Scott rests a hand on his arm. It’s so strange how everything with Scott feels new and yet completely familiar and comfortable at the same time. It’s a nice strange. 

Stiles goes to speak, but the thought goes out of his mind the next second when an arm is thrown around his shoulders, and loud cheering tries to pierce his eardrums. Half of the pack have appeared around them, all talking like they’re having the time of their lives. 

He tries to glare at Erica but she just grins at him, her arm still comfortably around his shoulders, and it’s hard to be mad when they all look so happy — and when he feels so happy. 

He shares a look with Scott, then they’re joining in with the chatter and cheering. They allow themselves to be pulled along the roof and back down into the diner. Ruby is greeted with another chorus of “Happy New Year!” and she is delighted by it.

Scott and Stiles only hang around for another half hour, before finally departing to go over to Derek’s like agreed. Maybe it’s just idiotic optimism, but something about this year already feels like it’s going to be better than the last. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have been writing this for MONTHS (technically years, but shush), and I'm not even finished yet, but Christmas is over, Hanukkah is definitely over, and I don't want to be waiting until after New Year and realize that I never finished this in time and then need to wait another whole year before I'm able to upload this, SO! First chapter, here we go!! Hope you guys enjoy!! <3


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